Blindsided
by MBurris
Summary: You don't have to be pleasant to do good things. And sometimes it's the littlest things that spark a massive change. And when someone's been blindsided, they think it's unfair. But just because they didn't see it coming, and can't tell where it's going, is it really something that's ... bad? Rating to be on the safe side.
1. The Unbearable Misery of Family

**Authors Note:** First, about posting: I have decided to post the chapters I have currently finished. They are subject to revision, and I have yet to complete the story. Both items are different than they way I normally do things, but I'm going to try it out. I firmly commit to finishing this story at some point, but I wanted to get this up before "someday" rolled around. Also, like always, my chapter length will be determined by the needs of the story, so don't be getting your hopes up. They will still be in the 3K word range, as is usual for me.

Second, about the genesis for this story:

Ok, let's think this through. There are a lot of old books, with proprietary, otherwise unknown, or just plain secret information about dark spells and rituals. There are books that hold recipes for specialized potions that haven't been seen for decades – or centuries. And we're supposed to believe that the spell inventor or Dark Wizard that collected this information … sent out his book of secret spells to a printer and had just _one_ copy printed off to put in his library?

Even when we know that quills can be spelled to write with perfect calligraphy in response to verbal dictation?

_Really?_

Obviously, the majority of spells and potion tomes are written with a quill and then duplicated by magic (we also know of the _gemino_ charm, right?) This fits with what we have been shown about how fragmented the collection of knowledge is in the magical world, and with what we know about how wizards and witches are trying to keep magical knowledge secret from the mundane world. (Which reminds me – how **does** _The Daily Prophet_ keep copies from landing in the hands of all us Muggles? A new edition every day, with animated pictures on the front page … and we never see any of that?)

So, what happens when a bibliophile encounters what looks like hand written books … and knows about how to produce a quality book on her own?

I read _The Dentists' Daughter_, by Old Crow. That, combined with some other thoughts I've had, about how Hermione's behaviors and descriptions _of_ her behavior didn't really match, about the kind of environment that would create such a girl, about how the personality of a young bookworm should really be shown, and how children really don't value peers that show different interests or behavior, made this. Given how much of this was inspired by (or is a reaction to) the work of others in the FanFiction community, I own even less of this than is usual. Please don't think I own the characters, plot, mileu, ideas, or pixels. JKR owns most of it, and what she doesn't, can be traced back to others. Or your power company. Maybe Dell?

I hope that you enjoy this anyway. Warning: Those who idolize Miss Granger should probably choose to read elsewhere.

**The Unbearable Misery of Family**

Hermione was a lonely little girl. Bright, though, everyone always said. Well, she was now ten years old – almost eleven – and not so little. Her parent's friends were always remarking about that. None of them ever mentioned how she never had playmates, how her parents never saw her except when she was produced like a trophy at the ever-present parties. Nobody ever noticed that her parents showed how they pretended to love her by buying her things – with the frequent intention that she should now go off _somewhere else_.

These were not parents that built a close-knit family. These were self-absorbed adults that had a child at the 'appropriate' time because it was 'the thing to do.' They were both relieved when they were able to put all the 'child-stuff' away and return to their adult conversations about themselves and money and the money they had, themselves, and the wonderful things that money could buy.

Such as ice and glassware and the many, many, _many_ varieties of alcohol. Sometimes paired with food.

It should be kept in mind that these were adults that had deliberately chosen dentistry as a profession so they could insist on the title of Doctor while absolutely refusing to provide emergency services (especially emergency hours.) Had they a bit more self-awareness or a bit less certainty about their place in the world, they would have defined the term _parvenu_. In short, W. Daniel Granger and M. Emma Granger née Wilkins were perfect for each other, abysmally absent for their daughter, and of no use to or for anyone else.

Hermione – so named because it screamed 'parental social pretensions' _and_ 'parental social cluelessness' – therefore took what solace she could in whatever interactions she could find that were quiet, unobtrusive, and permitted. In short, only the imaginary kind, which meant … literature. As her parents were flush with more dosh than was good for them, and as Hermione had once actually attempted to produce a book (at the age of six – while they were inattentive, the Grangers did _remember_), the girl child had been gifted with a Macintosh IIfx, LaserWriter II NTX, and a full suite of office software. Which she didn't really need, but … what else would a computer be used for?

Driven by boredom and a lurking curiosity, Hermione had actually attempted to learn all the software, but was primarily using the spreadsheet application, QuattroPro, to track her parents bar bill. (Hermione had come across the concept of sublimated hostility, and summarily rejected it. Her hostility was out, very proud, and somewhat … piercing.) She updated it every time her caretakers produced her for inspection, as if to show that they had passed the necessary conditions to be considered adults. As the whispers started, "It's a shame about those teeth," or worse, "that hair!", Hermione would produce her list of alcoholic consumables (and estimated prices) that had flowed through the house that month. Lately, she had begun adding quotes from their guest's appraisal of the potables, which sounded more … indefensibly pretentious than in their original venue.

W. Daniel would fix a patently false smile and accept the upbraiding, because he knew that if he did not … strange things would happen. Inexplicable things. _Socially embarrassing_ things. Cosmetic surgeries became impossible to ignore. Mr. Granger once dreamt that his ear tuck and jaw shaping had reverted to their before state – the _nightmare_! And if anyone dared laugh at the girl, well …

… worse things happened. An up and coming assistant to the local MP suddenly found a very unsightly and irregular growth on his face. An opinion editor who was not shy about airing said opinions abruptly found her teeth noticeably larger; not just the front teeth, but those in the rest of the jaw as well, forcing the incisors into an up-and-out translation before finally settling into an … an _air-cooled_ position. Several guests had found their night at the Granger's to be the precursor to a rather large cosmetic surgery bill – aside from that one rodent-eyed chap who had been gifted with the most amazing case of wind that would not stop presenting itself at the most inauspicious times.

Mr. Granger shuddered. For the past three years, he had endured the moralizing from his daughter in order to prevent the unnatural and uncomfortable from becoming real; and every time as she left, brandishing her little spreadsheet printout, he thought; _**You**__ are the reason I drink so mush. Much_.

For all the embarrassment, it was fortunate that their social circle was highly narcissistic and rather less observant than the average subject of the Crown; the … _events_ … were infrequent enough that none of their social set had made the connection between 'drinks at the Grangers' and 'inexplicable personal tragedy'. Thus, the drinks went on, and so did the … unnaturalness.

On September 19, 1990, the Granger family was gathered by an insistent call from the front door, where they found Hermione warily eyeing … a woman that virtually defined the trope of 'dried up spinster'. Dr. W. Daniel Granger, with no great warmth, asked, "May we help you?"

The woman sniffed. "I am here to present to your daughter, Hermione Granger, an exclusive offer for a rather special boarding school. May I come inside?" She was whip thin, of medium height, and sported a sour expression on her face that, according to the deep lines, had been there for many decades. Her black outfit was particularly ancient in style, and showed enough wear that it could be equally ancient in provenance – the black had worn well past Charcoal, though Iron, Shadow, and Pebble, and was now venturing almost into Smoke. Clearly, regardless of her diction, she was a Scot.

"How much?" blurted out Mrs. Dr. Granger. There had been a particularly bad _event_ last weekend, and now the prospect of relief was rather … seductive.

The severe teacher had tightened her lips, and merely repeated, "May I come in?" Mr. Dr. Granger was amused that her speech did, indeed, show traces of the High Country barbarism. He kept that to himself, and swept his hand inwards as an invitation that the crone quickly accepted.

Hermione followed with a narrow-eyed suspicion; she knew full well how her parents regarded her, and was viciously opposed to being shipped off to a boarding school. Apparently, the little swot was intent on repaying all her perceived misery, regardless of the cost or the eventual outcome of mutual homicide. But she knew that her parents weren't that good at deceiving her, so this was a surprise to them as well – which meant that this offer wasn't part of their household campaigns against each other.

Once settled in the parlour (where the schoolmarm selected a high back chair with miniscule padding), the conversation began in earnest. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger," she began, only to be interrupted.

"That's 'Dr. and Dr.', Professor," Mrs. Dr. Granger put in.

A bit bewildered by the interruption, the Professor said, "Ah, excuse me?"

"We're both dentists, Professor. The correct form of address is 'Dr.', for both of us," explained the Mr. Dr. Granger.

The Mrs. Dr. quickly chose to lower the apparent formality of the visit with, "But I am M. Emma Granger, and my husband is W. Daniel Granger. If we are not to stand on titles, you may use our given names." M. Emma attempted a winsome smile that was supposed to put her guest at ease and simultaneously show that the family of the house was of impossibly higher standards and breeding. The disconnect between what was attempted and what was achieved came from the lack of alcohol running through everyone's veins – something that gave M. Emma, in particular, great regrets.

The visiting teacher gave a blank look, shook her head, and attempted to recover. "Emma, then, you may have …"

The lady of the house interrupted again, "That's M. Emma, for myself, and W. Daniel for my husband. Omitting the initial letter would be … plebian."

Three blinks. Hermione, on a chair suitably out of the way for the adults to talk, rolled her eyes. She had seen her mother harp on this point, shutting down all conversation, for over ten minutes at a time.

Hermione was not willing to wait, nor was she willing to prop up her parent's affectations. "Professor, you have yet to introduce yourself, I assume that you teach at the school you mentioned?"

That was enough to put the old lady back on track, and focused on the young lady rather than her bewildering parents. "Ah, yes. I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, and I have been sent to bring you an exclusive opportunity. First," she hesitated, "have you noticed that there are occasional events in your life that defy explanation and that may be associated with times of great emotion?"

The three Grangers glanced at each other. This woman was not a member of the household, but had openly spoken of events that nobody wanted to face – or even name. _Just escape_. An uncomfortable silence reigned in the parlour.

Eventually, Professor McGonagall continued. "Those events happen because Hermione has the ability to do magic, and her emotional stress has triggered this talent. Once she has completed her training at Hogwarts, her talent will be fully under control and will pose no danger to any bystanders."

There was a great deal of skepticism and outright disbelief coming from the Granger's – all three of them – and none of it was disguised. "Magic is real?" asked Hermione, with an audible snort.

In response, the professor withdrew a thin stick, a little less than a foot long, from her sleeve and waved it at the coffee table in the center of the seating arrangement; the table blurred and reformed into a lion … complete with authenticating stench.

Now _that_ was convincing. Well, not the lion itself – but the amazing amount of urine that soaked their Authentic Reproduction Persian Rug. Something that didn't go away when the lion did, and served to remind them that their imaginations were rather small in the new universe that had been revealed. A revelation so shocking that nobody demanded recompense for the ruination of the Granger parlour.

-o-

As Professor McGonagall let herself out of the distressingly Muggle home, she reflected on how the typical Muggle experience of magic progressed. Wonder, enthusiasm, then dogged persistence, and eventually, disillusionment and departure. She wondered anew at the reasons usually given; how could the Muggle world possibly compensate for the lack of magic when it was run by people with no self-restraint, had no regard for propriety, and could not be bothered to locate their extended families? She shook her head to aid in clearing her thoughts. Regardless, the Grangers clearly had inflated notions of their own worth, and the lass was in for a difficult transition.

Minerva secretly wondered for a fleeting second if the loss of this particular student would be all that regrettable – for either side.

**Author Note: **I am now aware that in the UK, dentists did not receive the title "doctor." If it matters to you, remind yourself that this is an alternate universe, so that's one of the differences. It only matters to show what kind of people the adult Grangers are, and will not impact the story in any other way. You may now resume your suspension of disbelief.


	2. A Stranger In A Strange Land

**A Stranger in a Strange Land**

September 23rd was the first Saturday following their attitude adjustment about the laws of reality, and thus their first opportunity to explore a bit of this alternate world that had been revealed to them. Accordingly, Hermione's parents had helped her map out her route (a.k.a, given her a map of the transit system and told her to figure it out, it couldn't be too hard), given her a list of things to investigate, and provided her with both a bankroll and their absence. This was the first confrontation.

"How much?"

"I've given you £5000. That should be enough for supplies in their world." Her mother was rather short with her this morning; during last night's 'social event', she had carelessly mixed her alcohols and was suffering the predictable results. While Dr. M. Emma Granger had long practice in handling hangovers, she rarely made the effort to spare her daughter the pain from her own drinking.

"Try again, _mother_. Didn't you actually listen to that Professor? The magical world has its own currency, valued at one galleon per fifty pounds. Less conversion fees." Hermione was merely irritatingly precocious at the best of times. This wasn't one of those.

Mrs. Dr. Granger leaned against the wall of her home for support, and raised her hand to her forehead. "That will still leave you with, what …"

"One hundred galleons, yes, _mother_, but nothing will be as cheap as in the normal shops. Everything is handmade, _mother_. Prices will be much, much higher than what we can find here. And I need the right clothes to be accepted there, _mother_." Hermione's ability to use a parental title as invective was fairly new, and she was perpetually using it as an additional needle in her conversation.

Surrender quickly followed. Hermione received another bundle of pounds, and was shipped off that Saturday to find her destiny … _somewhere else_. Anywhere else. _Without_ them. Both Dr. Grangers counted it money well spent.

-o-

"Prof. McGonagall told me that I was to come here to enter Diagon Alley. Can you please let me in?"

Hermione had early learned the power of name dropping; not only did it provide access that couldn't be purchased, but it also skipped ever so many explanations and justifications.

The pub was poorly cleaned and really should have chosen a cleaner clientele, Hermione thought. The smoke in the air hung from floor to ceiling, and the layer of filth covering both furnishings and those furnished was of a distinctly different source, making for a completely repulsive environment for anyone such as Hermione, who had been schooled (however unwittingly) in the art of presentation. _And the art of hygiene_.

"Oy, Jimmy, alley for this gel, eh?" The barman was attempting to polish glasses, but given that his rag was not cleaner than the surroundings, no sanitation was achieved. A vacant-eyed lad of indeterminate middle age ambled out of the back doorway and looked around. Finding Hermione, he gestured to her and led her to the third doorway in the room.

Stepping through, Hermione was in a small courtyard with brick walls – and her guide was turned away from her, doing something. "Excuse me, but could you please teach me what you're doing? If I can do it myself, I won't have to bother you every time I come through." Hermione tried to use a reasonable tone of voice – not easy, because she never had an example from which to learn.

The big lunk, Jimmy, apparently, still seemed a little irritated, but he showed the little girl how to pinpoint the first brick, and what the pattern was after that. The bricks moving afterward left Hermione blinking and speechless for a moment. Jimmy disappeared during her astonishment, and Hermione set off along the center of the magical community in the UK.

Her first impression was 'grimy.' Her second impression was the same. And her third … well, the street was narrow, the cobblestones were uneven, and the number of people were few. Making her way up the narrow street, Hermione found that it really was an 'alley' in the Victorian usage; a narrow cobblestone path that frequently turned as it meandered it's uncertain way, frequently so narrow that three adults would be hard-pressed to stand shoulder-to-shoulder. The shops were always dirty, with encrusted windows that made a poor showing of the wares they were supposed to display.

_There really aren't that many magical people. There just can't be. _If the bustling center of magical commerce was practically empty, then … Hermione would have to follow that train of thought to its conclusion later, when she wasn't exploring a whole new _reality!_

From McGonagall's instructions, there was a place known as 'Grongotts' where money could be exchanged. After that, she would need a wand, and there was a bookstore with textbooks … and given how McGonagall was dressed, there had to be places to buy clothes and such.

Finally, Hermione passed yet another jog in the path to find a slightly wider (and slightly cleaner) part of the alley before her, with the left hand side taken up by a light grey marble structure. The architecture suggested Roman origins, but the proportions were off – it was too wide for its height. Or too short for its girth.

After a short pause, she walked along the length of the building – she suspected that this might be the bank – finding that there were no windows, sign, doors, or even … people. _Maybe I'm here before it opens?_

Ah – there they were; two short figures on either side of a door in a recessed opening. Walking closer, Hermione saw that they were about her height but with very wide shoulders. One turned to her at her approach.

"Hello," she said brightly. "Could you tell me, please, where I can find Grongott's?"

The person she addressed was either in the throes of a very intense illness or did not have a traditional human skin tone – green(-ish) did not indicate human health. His voice was also outside of human norms, being quite deep and clipped. "_Gringott's_, ma'am, is the goblin bank that serves magical beings. This is that place."

"Oh, thank you. I'm sorry about how I said it," and the little greenish man's stone face lost a bit of its forbidding expression. A very small bit. "I only heard it said once last week, and I didn't even know I was magical until then. May I ask a few questions?"

The man glanced at his companion for a moment. "I am a guard for the Goblin Nation. My conversation may not compromise my duties. What are these questions worth to you?"

The immediate negotiations threw Hermione for a fleeting moment, but she collected her bearings as best she could. "I could scarcely know unless I already knew the answers," she defended. "How do you customarily define the worth of your conversations?" Her tone immediately had shifted to haughty and indicated privilege … among humans, anyway. She moved to the side so that some exiting people could move hurriedly down the way.

The guard looked at her appraisingly. "For a human, you are not without _some_ sense," he declared. Even without knowing his body language, Hermione felt that she was being somewhat insulted with that praise. "Shall we make an open-ended agreement, then?"

"I cannot agree unless you give me terms to agree _to_," replied Hermione, she was very much out of her depth, and was trying to buy time, hoping that some clues would help her find her way through this bizarre world. Her parrying conversation was actually impressing the guard against his will, as she had not agreed to anything while still indicating her willingness to negotiate – an approach that was very close to that of the guard's commanding officer.

He decided on terms that were vastly more favorable than would be offered to most witches. "Shall we simply exchange answers, with the proviso that any business that any of us might have with the other's people shall be offered first to each other?"

Hermione saw nothing terribly binding in that, and agreed. Hermione's first question: "What is your name?"

He narrowed his eyes at her and said formally, "I am Zithrick of the Hook cavern, the Rawfintolwath sect, and the Gract'halist confederation. You may address me as Zithrick, and when you ask for me of other goblins, call for Zithrick Rawfin Halist."

Hermione asked timidly, "What does all that mean?"

Zithrick looked at her with a little exasperation, and gave a short lecture on Goblin society. His cavern was his home, so giving the cavern name was roughly equivalent (Hermione felt) to a family name. Goblins have very strict moral rules about certain actions, and those rules differ depending on which philosophical group they follow; that's why it's important to know which sect your Goblin belongs to. (Certain groups feel that falsehoods are permissible – those are rarely given teller positions in the bank, but frequently work as lawyers, for instance.) And there are professional groups – Zithrick's confederation – that rule on work actions of their members, "Like the BDA!" exclaimed Hermione. She was suddenly a little uncertain. "Does your sect or confederation allow for untruths?"

"Yes," he replied blandly.

Hermione was given pause. "Well, okay then," she said awkwardly.

They had a brief digression about the BDA (about which Hermione was a little vague, due to her age and complete disinterest), and Zithrick finally ruled, "My confederation is more akin to the court system and laws that I work under. Possibly like your labour union as well."

Hermione answered questions about the non-magical banking system (most of which she didn't know, but promised to research), and she learned that Gringott's was a bank serving the magical community and staffed primarily by Goblins, a non-human race of warriors that had taken up economic warfare when physical warfare had almost eliminated their people nearly five generations ago.

On her part, Hermione asked about services that the bank offered, and was informed about storage of funds (which was quite separate from investing – no interest on accounts in this world), storage of artifacts, investing, loans, magical protections, and artifact retrieval. After a small digression on the currency system, Hermione asked why Wizards didn't sell the gold Galleons for large amounts in the Muggle world?

The fierce grin brought home to her that she was speaking with a warrior – because, he explained, "the Galleons belong to the Goblin Nation, to Gringott's Bank in particular. Wizards are allowed to use them as a basis for exchange, but the gold content is merely loaned to them to add value to their transactions. Selling the gold _as gold_ to others is theft and would be," and he gave a nasty grin, "dealt with as befits a thief."

Given Zithrick's advice about Goblin manners and the services offered by the bank, Hermione was able to parlay her money exchange into a slightly better rate – she came out with G136 S5 K3, with a starting bankroll of £7000. She received directions to every place that a new student might want to go, and was told that she should stop by the Magical Post to learn how to post mail from the Muggle world straight into the Magical one. Hermione left quite satisfied with what she had learned, and resolved to continue this arrangement – she was sure that the Goblin had no idea how useful his advice had been.

-o-

From his point of view, the guard was only a little perplexed by the manners of this human girl. She was evidently the first of her cavern to have magic, so when she put on the airs of a goblin matriarch, she was actually _entitled_ to do so – and she wasn't nearly as abrasive as she might have been in that position. The information she promised to bring from the muggle world had the potential to bring much profit to the bank, even if they only indulged in arbitrage, and if she failed to keep their agreement, well … the guard didn't actually lose anything, and was able to note that this witch wasn't to be trusted. He could add her name to a list.

It was a very long list. Virtually a _Who's Who_ of the human magical society, in fact.

Zithrick was careful to conceal his elation as he walked back into Gringott's. He was acting several grades above his current station in treating with this human girl; normally, individual contracts (verbal or not) were not allowed to someone so junior, not until he was several decades older and leading a company (which was five promotions into his future.)

Even better, this was an open-ended agreement, and the girl was just begging to be treated properly. A few favors with no actual value, and she would be ripe to sign an (enforceable) contract that would give him the gold he needed to buy a female.

Exploitation was definitely the fast track to success!


	3. Opportunity Knocks

**Opportunity Knocks**

Hermione had a wand, finally, although the choosing process had created sparks galore that had, frankly, ruined her outfit, and she was currently in an internal debate about how she could get reimbursed for the damage – and from whom. Mr. Ollivander seemed to be of an … unstable nature, and she doubted that he would take responsibility. But somebody should. The lecture on using magic outside of school was brushed off – _as __**if**_ she would fail to be completely careful!

Potions were interesting … but Hermione felt that it might be just as obnoxious and dangerous (and _smelly_) as her practice with her Junior Home Chemistry Set, so ... it would probably be better left to a school environment. (And besides, the books that still remained in her collection from that time still had chemical damage along the edges – since then, she was exceedingly careful about damaging her personal library.)

She was uncertain about how the upper classes dressed, so decided on a standard robe and hat from Mrs. Malkin – that brought her total funds down to, _let's see_ … G128 S13 K24. _What a stupid system_. Of course, Hermione only remembered the decimal pound, so perhaps she could be forgiven her opinion on native currencies.

The visit to the Post had yielded a small pamphlet that looked to be handwritten (with decent penmanship, at least) and might actually give her the instructions she needed; it proved to be an ill omen for her next two stops.

There was a magical pest store – oh, excuse me, _pet_ store … and Hermione decided to completely miss that one. There was a store with the most interesting array of wildly retro office supplies that were being sold with no hint of irony … _I'm supposed to use quills? __**Really?**_ The parchment was quite different from the paper she was used to, and felt stiffer; she couldn't resist and bought a few sheets that had been cut to a standard size – which was not any of the standard sizes that _modern_ offices used. _And __**rolls of parchment**__? Does nobody use a __**notebook**__?_

The inks were fascinating, though, (colors and magical effects combined!) and the waxes for sealing and the raw ingots to produce your own seal (_using transfiguration_!) made her palms itch with excitement. Although she had a brief, stray thought that a Granger seal would be unbearably dull – would she be forced to go with her first impression of a tooth over a plow? But there wasn't a ball point to be found, and she suspected that they would get all provincial and snooty if she mentioned non-magical advances in office supplies.

_Heaven forbid they be exposed to a __**stapler**__._ _I wonder what would happen if I pulled out a paperclip? _She fingered her emergency clip on the inside cuff of her left wrist. It had come in quite handy for all sorts of emergencies, but never for the one thing that she carried it for; picking a lock. (She simultaneously felt that Nancy Drew had a lot to answer for and that picking a lock was easy enough that she didn't have to practice.)

Her brief foray into the used book store had been very unsatisfactory; there were no books in the store that had anything close to acceptable production standards. _All_ the books appeared to be _handwritten_! Yes, with calligraphy-level penmanship in most cases, but _still!_ Whups, no, this was one that was printed – in _blackletter_! And why _A History of The Great and Noble Family of Shpilky_ deserved such an incomprehensible typeface was lost on her.) Hermione wasn't about to put up with books that were so badly produced that they were difficult to read, so without a word, off to the textbook shop she marched. Flourish & Blotts, it was called, and while that was a proper British bookshop name, the bookshop she found was … substandard. Poor lighting, a quite disappointing selection … and the books were all still handwritten!

It made Hermione want to cry with frustration. Here lay a gold mine – instruction to a new world, to new people, to new _powers_ – and all they had about it was some scribbled bundles of paper that had words falling off the margins (what margins there were) and were _hard to read!_

Rather than producing tears, Hermione produced a cold anger and a freezing aura of disappointment. Stalking up to the counter, she demanded, "I need to talk with your manager." Her flat demand almost reduced the counter girl to tears, but it must be noted that she had dealt with a large group of pureblood self-important useless trophy wives (massive redundancy alert!) the day before. Being harangued by a young chit of a girl in the exact same tone that Narccissa Malfoy had used really was beyond her job description.

But the manager was duly produced, who was then subjected to a barrage of questioning. "How are magical books produced? Is there a system that copies a finished book to produce a permanent duplicate? What requirements does that system have? How do you select books for publication? Whom do I see about production standards? Is it even _possible_ for the Wizarding world to print a book in a Transitional Serif typeface? Or are you completely confined to Blackletter? Couldn't you even manage something in a Humanist layout?"

The poor man really hadn't done anything in his life that would warrant such an ordeal, but then, he hadn't really accomplished anything with his life either. Perhaps Fate was punishing him for failing to live up to his potential.

As he stammered his answers, the young girl with a forbidding expression and upscale Muggle wear under her off-the-rack Malkin Special grew more and more forbidding. With a flick of her fingers, she dismissed the manager and marched over to the school textbooks – a paltry display, but then, they shouldn't be in demand for another ten months or so! Nobody _told_ him that there would be a run on textbooks more than a month after the year started!

Hermione quickly went through the subjects listed, with a flick of her wrist depositing one copy of almost every subject in her book basket, where they lined up with neat precision. Either some accidental magic was at work here, or she went book shopping a _great_ deal.

The manager gently guided his counter girl away from the register, where he rang up the total and added a five percent 'git tax' – their standard pureblood fee. The young girl failed to blink at the total, and handed over the correct amount (G103 S8 K20) before lugging the stack of books out the door. After a meaningful look by the manager, the counter girl hurried out the door after the obnoxious customer and offered a timed shrinking charm for the books – which was turned down.

After that completely wet clerk had apologized her way out, Hermione felt that she could release her astonishment. _The way it's always been done?_ Well, she could (probably) do it **better**!

-o-

Bookshop Assistant Laura Holt stifled her grimace as she attempted to control her shaking. Mr. Steele, the manager, had allowed her to take some time in the back to "get herself together", but it was proving just a bit beyond her abilities at the moment.

There just weren't that many open positions for shop girls these days, and being a half-blood opened her up to the most amazingly snide comments and veiled insults by Lady Parkinson and her cronies. But that little … _chit_! Treating her as if she were furniture, with her own nightmare hair, and appalling teeth!

Laura began to reconsider if it might be worth the effort to re-join the Muggle world.


	4. Pursuing A Dream

**Pursuing a Dream**

That afternoon, Hermione taught herself the first spell in the Charms textbook – Light. Ensconced in her room with the curtains drawn, after a few attempts she reliably could produce the effects of a 20 watt bulb. While this was … not what she wanted (she wanted to stand on a mountain top and banish the night, dammit!), it was enough to convince her that going on was worthwhile.

So she put her wand away and turned to her computer. While she didn't have much experience with the specific software, Hermione had the unassailable confidence that comes to the completely unexperienced and overly educated (and she absolutely _nailed_ both criteria.) She opened MacWrite on her computer and her Charms textbook on a book stand to her right. The time was 4:17 pm.

At 5:30 or thereabouts, she was interrupted by a knock at her door.

"Young lady, there is a _bird_ in the back garden that is carrying an envelope. I believe that it might be for you." Mrs. Dr. M. Emma Granger was abrupt and dismissive and disdainful. But correct.

Hermione found that the owl was carrying a missive from the Office of Underage Magic Use. "Just a moment," she told the bird.

_Miss Hermione Jean Granger, the Ministry has received intelligence that at four oh nine, this afternoon, you performed the Light charm in a Muggle location. As a clear violation of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, you are hereby prohibited from attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and your wand will be retrieved by Ministry Aurors on Monday evening. Hoping you are well, Mafalda Hopkirk_.

Hermione turned the letter over and wrote on the reverse side using a ball point.

_Madame Hopkirk, perhaps you could check to see if there was __actually __a breach of the Statue of Secrecy before trying me in absentia? I was completely isolated from any person's view, in my own room in my home, and was simply using the Lumos spell to_ (Hermione gazed at the ceiling and tapped her chin thoughtfully) _expend some magical energy and reduce my magical stress. In no way would the light in my room, seen through draperies, have triggered any kind of breach: they would simply have assumed that I was using an underpowered electric torch. In the event that I am unable to calm down and I produce a large display of Accidental Magic, thus breaking the Statue of Secrecy to smithereens, it will be __entirely your fault__. _

_To summarize, your over-hasty rush to judgement indicates that you are incapable of your most basic responsibilities, and should be forcibly retired at the earliest opportunity, and I shall eagerly testify to that effect if you insist on taking this farce any farther. Respectfully, Miss Granger_

Hermione gave the letter to the owl, who had been looking on. The brown and white bird gracefully took to the sky and wheeled east toward London. She sighed: it was quite the relief to express her feelings without restraint. Total honesty was so _freeing_! Being able to unleash her family-honed contempt was an added bonus, too.

By 9 that evening, she was done. Not with typing in the book (although that was going fairly well – just ¾ of the chapter left to go), but with typing. Her fingers _hurt_. But she was pretty pleased with her progress, and knew that with time, she'd get faster. The afternoon and evening had seen her re-start her project upwards of ten times, as she kept finding decisions that should have been made before she began, but now she was firmly On Her Way and felt that she could see the end of this portion of the project within the week.

Which was a good thing, as she still had a lot of books to go. _Potions, transfiguration, astronomy, defense …_

-o-

That week was a blessed respite to her parents and her teachers. All the adults that were forced to interact with the girl, really. They didn't deserve one, not that they ever did, but Hermione just had other things to capture her attention. To her benefit, the Office of Underage Magic Use did not follow up with their threats, and the Ministry representatives failed to materialize – if that is, in fact, the kind of thing they did. Her wand was still in her possession, so she gave the legal authorities no more thought.

Mr. & Mrs. Grang … excuse me, _Dr. & Dr._ Granger were just as pleased that their progeny was finally learning to be unobtrusive that they completely failed to register that their hostile and bloody-minded daughter was now able to break the laws of physics and causality. They didn't ask for any demonstrations, which probably saved them; Hermione had been planning (at one time) to give them some unsightly changes to their appearance, but quietly dropped that idea after some quick reading in her schoolbooks. She would probably only be able to produce an intermediate jinx or hex ... but she was looking for an excuse.

The Charms chapter had been reproduced as a manuscript on her computer, backed up on several floppy drives, and decanted into Aldus Pagemaker, the desktop publishing program, for Hermione to experiment upon. So far, her efforts were … less successful than she had hoped, and now she was facing a decision point that depended a great deal on the manufacturing processes that were in use in the magical world.

After an experiment in sewing and embroidery last year, she was dearly hoping that she would not be required to bind the book herself. Even once – her fingers just couldn't take it.

_I need to go back and question Zithrick. _

Which led to a horrifying realization:_ I need to __**answer**__ Zithrick!_

Friday was full of Hermione's frantic attempts to learn everything about the Muggle ways of storing and transferring money. Her teachers again appreciated the distraction Hermione was under, and they took full advantage of it, prodding their little snots, er, students through the curriculum as fast as they reasonably could. One of them even managed to catch up to the point that they should have been in the year (it wasn't to last, but it was still a notable achievement.)

That Friday evening, Hermione finished up her self-study, and made a brief stop to liberate some pamphlets and flyers from a local bank branch. That evening was another of her parent's interminable parties celebrating self-delusion, moderate wealth, and the appreciation of alcohol, so she spent it up in her room with a book on the fractional-reserve banking system, much to the adults' unstated relief.

Saturday morning, Hermione packed her satchel carefully – no plebian backpack for her! It was a fine leather satchel that was now looking a bit worn and overstuffed, as it had been in this situation a few too many times. Aside from the usual travel gear (maps and money – and her 'local costume'), she had her book on Muggle banking, and her introductory pamphlets on the financial services available to general Muggles.

A note on the kitchen island, an early departure, and a quick ride on the bus, and Hermione was three blocks away from The Leaky Cauldron at 10:14 am. Well, the bus ride hadn't been all that quick. But the disreputable-looking pub was still there, having completely failed to clean itself up in the meantime, and the clientele was still equally far away from the present day as from acceptable hygiene.

With her usual headstrong implacable march, Hermione let herself through the brick archway in back, and so consumed with her intent that she was more impatient than marveling at the opening. As soon as the bricks split before her, she was off, marching through the Alley with little regard for the passersby.

Most of whom were a little puzzled at the miniature pureblood harridan that had just gone through; most of that sort were dressed a little better and wouldn't be caught dead with that hair in public! Ah, well, they shrugged, and murmured "Potions accident, no doubt," to each other.

At slightly before half ten, Hermione stopped before the Grongott's building – _no, __**Gringott's**_ – and surveyed the guards. Neither looked familiar. She did retain enough social awareness to wait (if a bit impatiently) until the guards had a free moment to shift their attention in her direction. "Is Zithrick Rawfin Halist available? I have information that he requested."

The taller of the two guards deferred to the shorter, wider, and older one. He puffed out a foul breath of air. "Zithrick? And what would you be wanting to give to that little dou…" he swallowed his (undoubtedly) foul expression as he took in Hermione's frozen expression. (Actually, Mrs. Dr. M. Emma Granger's second-most-fierce 'You did _not_ just break wind on my divan, young lady' expression.)

"I must repay his assistance, and I have additional information to give in accordance with our agreement," she insisted. Her expression changed – but not softened; the guard poked his partner without breaking eye contact with the human girl.

"Go get 'im." The lanky guard took off at a double trot and the remaining guard settled onto his haunches to endure what looked like the beginning of a staring contest with the girl.

After a few moments, Hermione asked imperiously, "And you think that using all your attention on a little human girl is guarding the bank properly?"

A small and fairly evil smile flickered over the face of the old goblin. "Yes," he hissed.

Hermione smiled back, much wider and without concealment. "Then I will have no trouble arranging to steal all the gold in this bank, and I will thank you by name in a note as I depart."

The loud roar from the goblin didn't catch her by surprise, but visibly startled all the other people in the vicinity. "Hah! Young 'Rick might not have been a fool to treat with you!"

Hermione had no idea how to respond to that, so … she didn't, just kept her gaze on the guard.

After a time – she wasn't quite sure how long it may have been – Zithrick exited the bank. He quickly looked around and said, "You should come with me. We can speak privately in a conference room." He began to walk briskly into the bank, and had to wait a bit until Hermione left off examining the old guard and joined him.

Zithrick led her to a door on the outside wall of the teller's area – Hermione would have thought that it led directly outside, to just about where he'd been standing in the first place, but instead, it opened up into a small conference room. Two chairs and a small table between them were all this room could hold. Zithrick held the door open for her and as she entered said, "This room will not be charged against your account. Please make your presentation brief."

Hermione reconsidered her approach. Instead of her usual complete answers, she brought out her book and packets. "This book details the current financial system used by most non-magical countries. This packet," handing over some slick glossy brochures, "is the standard information given for new customers at a consumer bank. There are separate banks that handle commercial and governmental accounts, and I have no information on those, other than this list," she handed over a page with a printed list on it, "of some of their names and contact information. Please note that all contact methods are exclusively non-magical." Hermione sat back in her chair, hoping that the brevity of their meeting was what Zithrick wanted.

For his part, the goblin looked up at her, frowning and fingering the list of commercial financial institutions and insurance organizations (Lloyds' of London figured prominently on the list of places she knew handled money but weren't 'proper banks' she could enter).

"What information do you wish?" Zithrick began.

"I want to know everything I can be told about all Wizarding and Goblin laws about beginning and maintaining a viable business."

Slowly, Zithrick said in his deep voice, "That is a considerable sum of knowledge to mine. I do not have even a fraction of this to hand." Pause. "Do you intend to begin a business?"

Hermione smiled, her lips closed. "It is likely. I find that the books for sale at Wizarding shops are crude and not up to my standard. I believe that there is a business opportunity, and I want to know how to be able to use that opportunity without getting myself in trouble."

Zithrick's expression cleared. "Then first, you will need an overview of where you fit into Wizarding society." He settled into his chair, his head elevating to Hermione's level. "Hogwart's School takes in 40 children each year. There are the children identified as possible heirs to various families, children of business leaders, and those above a certain threshold of magical power. A small number of those slots are reserved for children from non-magical families so they can present themselves as egalitarian, and all children not selected for Hogwarts will find themselves working in occupations that you would define as 'blue-collar.' By entering into Hogwarts, you are preparing for a high position in magical society that can only be achieved through a recognized family name or political connections … which you do not possess …"

Zithrick, in the next 120 seconds, brusquely schooled Hermione fairly well on her place in this society – which turned out to be as a mobile object of pity. She, and those like her, were brought in so that even the lowest ranking member of upper-class magical humanity would have someone to look down upon. As she learned more and more, Hermione's mouth tightened into a thin, determined line.

"… so do you have any other questions?"

Hermione thought quickly. "I will need a plan for how an under-age human can control a business in the magical world without being vulnerable to adults."

Narrow, appraising eyes swept over her. Hermione was quite used to her parental inspections, so she was unworried.

"Do you intend to own a business?"

Hermione shrugged. "Investigating it does not make me go through with it, and may lead to opportunities."

"Very well." Zithrick turned and called out in a loud voice something in his guttural language. Barely a moment passed before another goblin entered with two scrolls of parchment. Zithrick gestured them to Hermione. "These are two scrolls that we recommend to all new business owners. These are adequate recompense for the work you provided on Muggle banking systems."

"Thank you," Hermione said as she stood up. "I will come to you for any further investigations. Do you have anything you want me to research?"

Zithrick stood as well, his head lowering as he stood. "Not at this time." He opened the door and ushered her out. "When you begin to form your business, please return to consult with me. I have no doubt that you will be profitable."

One scroll of parchment detailed several different ways that a business in the Wizarding world could be organized. This was useful. The second scroll was … less so; a list of available services offered by Gringott's and a fee listing. As it was not glossy, nor colorful, Hermione failed to recognize it as an advertisement.

This was fortunate. Modern society has conditioned its inhabitants to ignore them.

-o-

Hermione went back to terrorize the manager of Flourish & Blotts, demanding specifics on how books were produced, who decided on publishing, and the legalities surrounding everything. She was unsuccessful in schooling her expression when she found that copyright law was unknown and unenforceable here; Muggle copyright wasn't codified until 1710, so perhaps that was too recent an innovation to have filtered through to the Wizarding world. The 'standard' process for creating duplicates of any good – books included – involved a charm that wasn't too hard to cast and an enchantment to make it permanent – which was quite difficult; this was the primary cost associated with Magical production of books. If she could find a way to make it less magic-intensive, it would probably be cheaper …

Once home, Hermione prepared a letter with copious use of the thesaurus and a goodly amount of her native arrogance. Not all of it though, as a dose of humility was called for. That was the difficult part.

"_Dear Sir;_

_As the instructor of a most exacting subject at Hogwarts, I assume that your reliance upon a good textbook is an essential part of your teaching. In reviewing the textbooks available to Hogwarts students, I have been amazed – and not favorably – at the layout and incomprehensibility of these handwritten books._

"_I am somewhat familiar with the printer's art, and have therefore taken it upon myself to translate the existing textbooks into a form that would aid the average student rather than hinder them. As this is my first attempt, I only wish that you would peruse the enclosed sample chapter and determine if my efforts might be worth your support. In future editions, there might be changes in text layout (to emphasize warnings and safety measures) and changes in the text itself (if there are any additions you deem worthy of permanent inclusion in the text – and any textual changes will be only authorized by Masters of the subject.) As of right now, however, I am only attempting to faithfully transcribe the existing textbook for First Years. _

"_If you would like to encourage this endeavor, I would need a favorable response by the end of this calendar month, so I may insure that your subject, at least, is represented in the new line of printed textbooks that I aim to have available for the beginning of the next Hogwarts year._

"_Thank you for your time and attention, _

_signed, Ancient Traditions Publishing."_

Hermione felt that using her own name might bring her unwanted attention next year when she entered Hogwarts – and "Ancient Traditions Publishing" should be innocuous enough – and garner some favorable feeling from the name alone.

Of course, the letter to the Potions master wasn't the only one. The letters to the Herbology and Transfiguration professors were profuse with apologies for not having a product ready immediately. (The reason given in Herbology was that "the necessary artwork would, of course, have to be of sufficient quality to justify such an undertaking, and could the Professor perhaps recommend a talented past student that could assist in such a work?")

The responses were immediate – and enthusiastic. Apparently, the Transfiguration professor was the same … individual … that delivered Hermione's initial invitation to Hogwarts, and she was also a person of some authority in the school. Her letter implied that all teachers were directed to comply with this publishing effort, and sent a list of former students that could be persuaded to assist, should there be any need for additional workers. That list immediately went into Hermione's notebook organizing her efforts. _Although why she would see fit to organize them by "blood status" is something to look into._

Hermione added it to her list. "Blood status" was at the bottom; "Madame Hopkirk" was at the top.

The potions professor was guardedly supportive; "I would hope that a new edition of the standard potions textbooks would be able to incorporate the advances and corrections that have been made over the intervening centuries. While other disciplines – hardly worthy of the name – have no guiding principles and barely any standards for Mastery, Potions cannot be grasped by dunderheads, and thus, actually progresses over time." _It seems that the professor has a bone to pick with other subjects_.

Then there was the Herbology professor's reply: "I fully agree that a new (and properly printed) textbook would be of great value to our community. To that end, I am enclosing copies of my personal field notebooks, which should have art of sufficient quality to at least produce a first edition in a short time frame." The ten notebooks did, indeed, have enough high quality sketch work to make the first edition of all seven years textbooks quite achievable.

Astronomy was the one and only subject that seemed to be covered by non-magical sources, and the professor alluded to that in a roundabout way in her plea for assistance. "As you review this subject, please feel free to correct erroneous information that has been corrected by other sources. I am aware that other cultures have made advances in their study of the moons, planets, and stars, and a gathering of verified information would help to advance this subject to the current state of knowledge. However, because of the cultural insularity of Magical Britian, I would advise that the source of these advances not be included in the student materials." While that warning was vague enough to puzzle Hermione without giving her the alarm she should have felt, it _did_ alert her to a hole in her plans: teacher editions! _I'll have to get my hands on them and print those, too!_

The subjects of Runes, Divinations, and Arithmancy (which was something to do with divination through numbers) sent a combined letter to ask if their subjects could be covered by the publisher … and the inquiry from the Care of Magical Creatures teacher in a separate missive was almost pathetic: "As I plan on retiring in the next few years, this textbook is the one most sorely in need of expansion and revision. My only hope for a replacement professor is an oaf with more enthusiasm than sense, and he will need more guidance than the students." To his credit, he also sent to Hermione a series of moving drawings of the animals covered in the text – now, she just had to obtain the texts. _Again, the teacher editions!_

But the capstone was the reply from the Charms professor, a Prof. Flitwick. In response to the first chapter from the textbook, he gave his unqualified support, and further included a list of spells that would make production _much_ easier: the capacity to magically copy text or art (animated art, at that!) to another page, in all permutations. In effect, Hermione saw, this could do old-fashioned page layout work, when the digital process wouldn't cover it.

Hermione's squeals were almost loud enough to disturb her parents, were they not at the other end of the house. _This_ was treasure!

With a modest investment – under £15, which she had saved from allowances and birthday money – she should be able to produce a completed product that would get her the rest of the investment she needed. What she was unable to beg, borrow, steal, or make on her own was … time – so she immediately got to work.

Well, what an eleven year old with a computer thought was work. She actually spent several completely ineffectual days working through MacProject before realizing that she had no idea how long some of these tasks would take, and so the computer's estimates were nothing more than wishful thinking.

The letters had been sent out on Monday, and all replies were in hand on Thursday, so after a weekend of spinning her wheels … well, Hermione wasn't one to miss school for trivial reasons, and her parents weren't about to argue when she intended to stay completely out of their way, so … the local school was blessedly Hermione-free for the first day of the week.

After several more aborted beginnings in MacWrite, Hermione scrapped her half- formed ideas and began to plan from the beginning. Okay – in order to be a recognized series, all the books have to be the same size. Textbooks are typically a large size, but then they are unwieldy and make for difficult reading when not at a desk. The Magical textbooks Hermione had bought were all over the place; the smallest was under a notecard in size, with the largest bigger than an A3 page.

_Time to standardize_. Hermione dithered over the choice between A5 and A6 for the longest time until she realized that if she needed to change the size in the future, it would differentiate between new and old editions – spurring sales. _A5 it is! _This had the happy result that her pages could be printed side by side on a standard A4 sheet from her printer.

A blank notebook in A5, with a leather cover, was just under £5 retail at the stationary store she knew best. With volume and wholesale discounts, Hermione figured that she should be able to get blank books for about £2 – which should give her a nice profit going against Flourish & Blotts. And the number of pages …

Hermione groaned. _The books weren't big enough! _Promptly, a letter was penned and addressed to Professor Flitwick, asking if there was a magical remedy for this issue. The majority of the letter was a compilation of praises for the spells he had shared, and an overview of what her plans were – just in case he had other advice to share. Addressing it to the magical drop-box in the Muggle world, she placed it in her mailbox for pickup. That was off her mind, so … next?

_The text needs to be in the computer, then I have to tag the text for formatting, and then set up the set the page sizes and page layout._ _If I can figure out the commands, I'd like to create a table of contents and an index – so that may take a while. Once everything is set, I have to print out each page, use magic to copy it to the book _(a thought that made her internally squeal in delight)_, and then … nope, that's it. The book is done, and I have to use that example to raise some investment funds_. Hermione was a little vague on the whole business aspect of what she was undertaking, but she knew that she would need some serious money to set up shop before she could begin to sell anything.

So, assuming that the number of pages was an issue that could be solved … Hermione began transcribing the books she had. Her typing skills were … adequate for a pre-teen, but it was a long slog to type an entire textbook. _Preferably in a weekend_. Her charms and transfiguration books were her first choices, and given the extra help that Mr. Flitwick was providing … charms was first. _And besides, she already had the first chapter done!_

Next Wednesday afternoon, she was interrupted by a sharp tapping on her window; if she didn't have previous experience with owl deliveries, she would have jumped out of her own skin (especially as she was on the first floor.) Mr. Flitwick had written back with … a spell that would _permanently create blank pages!_ Saved! And there were others, too – a Muggle Notice-Me-Not and a spell for _permanent_ color change!

It wasn't until she went to bed that night that she realized how the page creation spell might help her profit margin. With this spell, she could buy thinner blank books, which would be cheaper, and then use magic to "fill them out" to the number of pages she needed. Hermione didn't usually have a smile on her face, but it very difficult not to as she wafted off to sleep.

It was late Sunday evening when Hermione was finished with the transcription. Her fingers ached, but she was still Hermione, so she made three backup copies of her finished document on three brand new floppies. Two were filed in her desk drawer, and one went in an old shoebox in her closet. She had read all about proper document retention, and wasn't about to lose the product of the last 120 hours.

-o-

Back at Hogwarts, a diminutive man with a slight green tinge to his skin was musing as he looked out of his office window. His feet rested upon a raised ottoman, matching the elevated position of his chair, and his mind briefly touched upon the assorted follies he had seen during his tenure at the castle. More specifically, the follies of those outside the magical society as they substituted enthusiasm for insight and sense.

This – he snorted – 'Ancient Traditions Publishing' was a case in point. If it had backing from a pureblood house, the name would have referenced the house, or the name of a noted relative. That it did not was a dead giveaway that this new venture was the product of half-bloods, at best, Muggleborn at worst.

Their obvious lack of research on book-related charms, transfiguration, and enchantment also showed. Any pureblood House would have a list of such things for use in their own House library. Without a House sponsor, it was going to be an uphill flight for these people.

But while Filius had witnessed a number of Muggleborn missteps over the years, he hadn't seen this one before. _Perhaps,_ he mused, _he could get away with stirring the cauldron a little_. He turned to his desk, flicked his wand, and began to dictate a letter.

"To: Ancient Traditions Publishing. I note that you have embarked on the difficult project to bring our printed books up to a more readable standard. In support, I offer the following spells in the hope that you will find them useful, and of economic value. My first offering is a permanent charm, commonly thought of as an enchantment, that prevents non-magical people from paying attention to the existence of the object it is cast upon. In this way your products will be immune from challenges on Statute of Secrecy grounds …"

_This should, at least, be an amusing complication for Flourish & Blotts …_


	5. Hostile Negotiations

**Hostile Negotiations**

The following week was again restful for all those around Hermione. She was forever staring off into space, and then frantically writing figures into her notebooks. She even had to be prodded to answer questions in her school classes, and the teachers dared hope that this would be permanent.

If the work of starting and running a business could be permanently all-enveloping, those teachers might have had a chance. As it was, Hermione had worked out her business plan after going through nineteen different drafts, and now had a few stumbling blocks that the goblin scrolls had identified – namely, how to entrust a general manager with the money, and more importantly, the direction, of a business.

The goblins seemed to have a system in place that they trusted, a complex web of magical oaths and contracts that should compel a manager to make the best decision for the company, while leaving the gold to trickle into the owner's vaults. The cost for setting up these protections was not completely specified, but … Hermione was sure that they would be reasonable and completely within her budget, which was now almost complete.

The spreadsheet she had devoted to launching her company was about to see yet another version created; she was currently counting on about G10,000 for her startup costs, and believed that she could pay that money back within two years; this could be a gold mine!

But of course, first she needed to find that kind of largesse so she could get the whole enterprise off the ground. And where does a proper British girl go for a large sum of money?

Daddy.

"Daddy, I have an investment opportunity for you."

Mr. Dr. Granger shook his head. "That won't be happening. You are eleven years old; I will not sink Heaven-knows-how-much into a venture headed by someone that hadn't even finished school!"

Hermione pouted – or attempted to; the written descriptions could never provide the feedback she needed to truly get it right. "But Daddy, I could end up _owning all the books_ in the magical world!"

He shook his head firmly. "Your education hasn't even covered double entry bookkeeping, and now you think that you can create a business that handles all printing for an entire culture? Poppycock!" He was currently trying on the verbal airs of the higher classes, and showing that he didn't have the bluster to make it convincing. Nobody had let him know this.

Hermione shook her head stubbornly. "The magical world doesn't have copyright, so I can get my source materials from any book they have. And with the technology of the non-magical world, I can produce uniform books with real," her face crinkled with distaste, "standards. Even the printed books they do have aren't really done well – I think they were printed on an old Gutenberg press, or something – but most of their books are handwritten!"

"That's as may be, young lady," and here, Hermione winced – she never, ever, got what she wanted when 'young lady' was trotted out – "but I will not pour pounds sterling into a venture headed by an eleven year old that can't be bothered to dress decently for a business negotiation, and that's final!"

Hermione looked down at her play jumper, and crossed her eyes to catch the stain she had accidentally caused when she dribbled spag-bol a few nights back. It wasn't her fault! She was pointing out that they were all family, so that he _had_ to invest in her printing business!

Upstairs, Hermione examined her planning spreadsheet again. According to Zithrick, the magicals that didn't attend Hogwarts were home schooled – and that meant that they could use textbooks as well. If the Hogwarts textbooks could be adapted to become the homeschooling curriculum, she was looking at a gold mine, almost literally.

Maybe. She had no idea how to guesstimate populations or demographic distributions, so estimates of profit were completely out of her reach. She sat back in her seat. She needed an adult that could run the options so she could make the decisions. _Sigh_. In short, Hermione needed an employee before she could afford one.

_And Daddy wouldn't help_.

Her eyes narrowed. If that was how he was going to be? Then, she would just have to make this work and keep all the money for herself! She put the spreadsheet away, and went back to the typing. Hermione knew that having one finished example would do more to sell her ideas than any amount of talking. It was time to show them what she could do.

-o-

Mr. Dr. Granger watched his daughter stomp up to her room. Hermione really couldn't do much, thought her father. She was eleven years old – a bright eleven, but still younger than a teenager. It wasn't as if her opportunity wasn't a goldmine – it really could be, for the person with the dosh, and who could select the right manager. But right now, that person wasn't him; Mrs. Dr. Granger's morning recovery time had eaten into the appointments they could schedule, and the NHS was forever talking about restricting fees that dentists could command. Right now, the 'appointment expediting fee' was a majority of their income, and most of that went to paying off their home mortgage / club fees / cosmetic surgeries / credit card payments.

He narrowed his eyes. And if she found financing somewhere else, she would be out of their hair that much sooner – and then the unnaturalness would stop and perhaps, just perhaps, M. Emma Granger could be persuaded to take a peek out of that bottle of hers. And if not? Well, there were always birds down at the pub.

Any publishing company would have to have an adult running the show, which meant that he had a fair chance of having a quiet word and receiving a quiet monthly check. It really wasn't enough for putting up with the girl, but every little bit helped, and she really wasn't going to repay her parents in any other way …


	6. Angel Investors

**Angel Investors**

The next Saturday – and oh, how she was impatient for those hours to tick over – Hermione was at the main entrance to Gringott's at a bit after 11:00. The guards were not overtly hostile, and just nodded when she asked to speak with Zithrick. The short being emerged from the bank entrance quite soon after, and led her a few steps away from the entrance.

"Miss Granger, what business do you have for me today?"

She took a deep breath. "I want to start the – I mean, a business. I will need to hire a human adult to run it, and I need start up funds to … sink the first shaft." She had pondered metaphors that the goblins might prefer on her bus ride over.

Zithrick appraised her coolly. "That was well said." He looked up at her. "I have access to a short list of individuals that might serve. And I will need to examine your business plan before committing to funding."

Hermione opened her satchel and passed over a small bundle of paper-clipped papers, detailing equipment needed, staff to be hired, and tentative plans for product rollout and expansion.

Zithrick did not look at the documents, but continued on, "What are your preferences for the adult manager?"

Hermione considered for a bit. "Well, I think that I'd do better with a woman, younger if possible, but they absolutely _have_ to have some experience with Muggle technology."

Zithrick tilted his head back as he considered. "I can have at least four applicants contacted that meet those requirements. Will you be available for a meeting this afternoon shortly after lunch?"

Hermione looked around the alley. The foot traffic was sparse, and passersby had conspicuously ignored them. It looked like she could just explore for a while … waitaminute! She turned to face Zithrick fully. "Hiring a manager is only feasible if you are going to fund the business. Have you decided to do that?"

Zithrick nodded. "I believe that there are some significant alterations that will need to be made to your estimates of initial cost, but yes, I believe that my investment group will be willing to fund your initial year. We will need to adjourn to a conference room for negotiations and to create a contract."

Hermione nodded. "Time is a critical component of the business plan. We need to get as many textbooks ready for the school shopping season as possible, or we will have no income for our business over the next year. The sooner we start, the better the business will survive." Hermione was mostly parroting the business talk she had absorbed from Charles Dickens' and Robert Louis Stevenson's novels, but it made a vague sort of sense, she thought. Unfortunately, there weren't any business books in her school library, and the public library selection seemed to assume some preliminary expertise – it was not quite within her grasp. _Yet_, she vowed.

Zithrick led her to the same room they had left, and produced from somewhere a long-ish piece of parchment. _The contract_. Zithrick was funding the business (Ancient Traditions Publishing) for the space of one year, after which it was to be self-sustaining. After the first year, Zithrick would receive one half of all profit, and would have authority to veto any changes in the business plan (which the business would be required to follow.) The initial investment amount would be recorded as a loan against the business, and would have to be paid in one lump sum, which would then end the goblin's lien against the business as well as their authority within the business. Not seeing anything wrong with the terms, Hermione picked up a quill, then hesitated.

"Can we change any of the terms?" she asked.

Zithrick looked formidably displeased. "Which terms do you think to alter?"

Hermione pointed to the length of initial funding. "While I don't think that the business will lose money, I'm not sure that ATP won't need additional funding for expansion or something after that."

Zithrick's expression cleared. "If additional funding is needed, you can present a case for it, but it is not covered by this agreement, and those negotiations will be completely separate," he explained.

Hermione nodded, loaded the quill with ink, and filled in her name as the owner of the business. The back of her right hand started itching, but it subsided quickly after the signing was finished.

"Very well," nodded Zithrick, "I will have the candidates for your manager contacted and available for interviews this afternoon. I would advise a name for the company needs to be decided upon before the day is out, so that ledgers can be drawn up and vaults assigned." He stood and escorted the young witch to the Bank's entrance. "Good day, Miss."

-o-

That afternoon was … a farce, really. Hermione tried to conduct the interviews, but was regarded with contempt openly by two of the candidates (one woman and the only male among the candidates.) Of the remaining five, one asked archly if "daddy will be able to increase funding" for the company – Hermione instantly disliked her. Three showed that their familiarity with Muggle living didn't extend to basic fashion – or there were enclaves within London that had a disturbing laxity about sleepwear as streetwear. Either way, Hermione felt that she would just rather not.

Fortunately, the remaining option was someone that Hermione felt that she could … get along with, at least. Sharon Latheham was in her mid-thirties, and was dressed in Muggle business fashion. She seemed quite sharp, asking a multitude of questions that Hermione could only answer, "We haven't decided on that yet," which boosted Hermione's impression of her. She also had an idea of what "word processing" referred to, which put her amazingly ahead of the rest.

"Miss Latheham, I'd like to have you work as the primary manager of this business. I'll turn over everything to you; I still have to participate in school, so you will be the primary worker and decision maker for the day-to-day operations. Are you willing to work in this position?"

Sharon looked down at the frizzy-haired girl. She was obviously faking her experience (but not her attitude, unfortunately), but from the few definite details, this seemed to be one of the few options that a Muggle-born witch could have for a real career. "Yes, I should say that. May we begin?"

Hermione walked out of the small interview room to where the candidates were waiting. "I have selected Miss Latheham to fill this management position. Thank you for your willingness to apply for this position. Miss Latheham?" Hermione led her new employee back into the interview room without a backward glance to the failed candidates.

The goblin-provided contract was simple, yet vicious. Miss Latheham had complete authority over the company up to the point where she deliberately does anything against her instructions – then, she loses her magic. If the violation involves theft, sabotage, or betrayal, she loses her life. Hermione was certain that signing such a contract was an act of insanity … but she did feel like she could trust Sharon, now.

Hermione took Sharon to the Leaky Cauldron, and over a lunch that Hermione barely dared to touch, discussed Hermione's plans for the business. Sharon had some thoughts to contribute.

"Miss Granger,"

"Hermione, please," the diminutive boss corrected her.

"Hermione, then. Did the goblins tell you about how Hogwarts students are chosen?" 

Slowly, "No. Just that Hogwarts has a limited amount of students, and that it is something like Eton for Magicals."

"That's a good comparison. But just like Eton has an absurdly small percentage of the total number of students in England, and aren't the only students needed to be educated, Hogwarts students really aren't the largest concentration of textbook purchasers in Magical Great Britain."

Hermione looked at Sharon intently. Sharon was beginning to show lines at the corners of her mouth and eyes; the expression that came naturally to her face wasn't laughter. There was a … sharp eagerness … that put Hermione in mind of a hungry predator. But still, the contract had been signed, and Sharon was now bound to follow Hermione's direction. _Hmmm_.

Decision time. "Sharon, I just wanted to make books _right_. But if you know how to expand Ancient Traditions Publishing so that it's also profitable, then go right on ahead. I don't want this company to do anything against the law or that will get us in trouble – but you can do anything you need to so that our company," Sharon smiled thinly at that, "gets up and running profitably."

Sharon hefted the prototype Charms textbook that Hermione had created. "I do believe that we can get this moving immediately." Hermione and Sharon exchanged muggle contact information and parted ways.

The next two weeks went on in normal fashion for Hermione, with a short letter arriving through the Royal Mail detailing the progress made. Sharon had identified that a typist/computer jockey needed to be hired, and two business premises settled upon; one Muggle office to house the computer and printer and to accept Muggle deliveries, and one magical office where Muggle materials could be assembled magically to produce their product. Sharon offhandedly noticed that all the textbooks would be in the computer given another week, and that she had a tentative agreement with a Muggle supplier for blank books – this puzzled Hermione, as she couldn't see how they would need any of those, just the initial books that would be magically copied.

They had a meeting on the third Saturday of October, meeting at a pub local to Hermione's home. After they ordered, Hermione asked, "What's this about getting all the textbooks in the computer so fast?"

Sharon smiled a little. "I contacted a secretarial school to have a lot of photocopied notes typed up according to specifications. The school needed something to practice on, so I gave them copies of all the books. Two weeks later, I got back a stack of discs and the originals."

Hermione was suspicious – and a little flabbergasted. "That's, um … forty-nine books! Doesn't that violate," she looked around, "the secrecy laws?"

"Seventy-four books," Sharon absently corrected. Hermione stifled a little choke. Sharon scoffed as she went on, "I told them that the handwritten notes were the source materials for a role playing game, and had them all sign a non-disclosure agreement. It's all fine." She waved her hand in dismissal.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "What's a role-playing game?"

"Dungeons and Dragons is one type. There are all sorts, and our textbooks fit their stereotype of an obsessive fantasy writer making up a world out of whole cloth. They were glad to have the training, and it only cost us £500, so everybody wins. But it's put us three months ahead of schedule, so I'm looking at adding content for the basic core classes."

Hermione nodded, and moved on to her second concern. "So why would we want to buy blank books?"

Sharon hesitated. "I think that discussion should wait until we have a bit more security," she said slowly. They put their heads together to look at office locations in a nearby office area, and as soon as their meals were served, Sharon pulled a coaster out of her bag and set it on the table. "Muggle avoidance and anti-eavesdropping charms," she informed Hermione, and they went on to discuss some of the possibilities for a location close to Diagon Alley.

Sharon nodded. "I had a thought, and I think that this will give us a bit more leeway for the first two years or so." She stopped to consider. "You know how the books are generally produced?" Hermione nodded; they didn't want to get into specifics in a Muggle area. The books were made by dictating the text to a Dictation Quill; whether to an existing blank book or onto pages that were then bound by hand (or magic replicating the hand-binding steps), and then the finished books were conjured duplicates of the original. Sometimes, a publisher would use transfiguration to duplicate a book, but that used less power even though it lasted longer, so it was regarded as an inferior practice. Books guaranteed to be permanent sold for a premium – and that included all of the Hogwarts textbooks. "So to create all the stock we'll need, it will take more than a few adults to use their power to make it all. But if we simply move the printing into a book that already exists, we can make more finished product with less staff." Because using less magic per book translated to more books per person.

"… and staff is what will cost us the most," Hermione finished, nodding along.

"Right. So what we need now is an office where we can put the computer and printer and receive shipments of blank books, and an office cleared for our," another glance around, "production process."

Hermione had some questions about the office locations, of course, and Sharon had to just deal with it, especially as this chit of a girl had power over her job.

"Why can't we just set up one office and tell the Ministry that this is a Muggle-free zone?" was her first question.

The answer was a bit hard for Hermione to swallow. "Because we are not male, we are not part of a magical family, and we do not pay enough in bribes," Sharon said succinctly.

"WHAT?"

"A male head of a magical household can get an exemption from the Ministry fairly easily. Females do not have the same household authority, and they will never accept me – or you – as the head of a business. They just won't take me seriously. And even if they did, we'd have to pay some serious bribes to get it done."

Hermione was agog. "Just because we're women?"

Sharon nodded. "That's right." The expression on her face said, _Welcome to the real world, little girl_. "And we need both a muggle business address and a magical one. So – which of these options do you think we should take for our computer offices?"

Fortunately, they needed no male leader to conduct business in the non-magical world. They discussed the different options, but Hermione finally gave up and waved her hands at Sharon. "I'm sure that you'll be able to figure out the best one." She also delegated the choice for future staff to Sharon's discretion, and they turned to the physical books that they were going to purchase. They settled on an A5 journal, with a double loop of wire binding that was concealed within a normal cover – which would allow the textbook to lay flat easily, but would also provide a strong enough spine to prop the book up at an angle. Hermione was happy at the "proper" book look, and Sharon was pleased that she hadn't demanded pleather covers or some such nonsense.

"Good. I think that we can also get these in A4 size, and we can use that size for the OWL and NEWT study editions I have planned."

"I don't get it. Why would you print the books in a larger size for study?"

Sharon smiled. "The print won't be a larger size – it will be in the same size, but on a larger sheet of paper, leaving space for notes around the edges. It will also have all the previous year's textbooks combined in one to make revision more convenient – of course, for a higher price. I believe that re-selling the same textbook three times will allow us to increase our profits a bit."

Hermione's eyes lit up at this clever marketing. "So how soon do you think that ATP will be profitable?" They had taken to referring to the business by its initials.

Sharon waffled a bit. "I am not sure. The textbook business has only one main selling season, so there needs to something that we can do to insure an income the other eleven months of the year. I have some ideas, but without that, it may take three or four years."

Hermione was dumfounded. _So soon_?

They finished their meals, and as soon as Sharon retrieved her 'privacy coaster', the waitstaff cleared their dishes and presented the bill.

Sharon and Hermione left, and Hermione relaxed; the business would be producing "real books", and she didn't have to direct it.

-o-

Sharon Latheham was finally going to realize her goals. As a muggleborn female, she was pretty much at the tail end of the status ladder, only a partial step above Muggles, squibs, and house elves. She had drive and ideas, and if she couldn't outwit (or even co-opt) her harridan-in-training boss, she would _deserve_ to be under that chit's thumb.

Her eyes narrowed as she stalked down the street, scarcely noticing as wiser pedestrians swerved to get out of her way. Those stupid idiots had no idea what proper business practices could do, and she was going to crush them all!

Economically only, of course. It was quite satisfying for your defeated foes to still be around to properly fear you.


	7. Age Discrimination

**Age Discrimination**

In the weekend after Halloween, Hermione had a good note through the Royal Mail and a horrendous fight with her parents.

Sharon had taken to making business reports through the Muggle postal system (it was cheaper, for one), and she let Hermione know that all the textbooks were in digital form and ready for book layout. The typist services had tagged all the chapter titles for automatic table of contents creation, but they still had a way to go before they could make a reliable index of spells names and incantations and ingredients (for potions). Sharon had identified a few young ladies that would be suitable for ATP to employ, and had begun leasing office space in which to house them. The computers, printers, paper, and office furniture were ordered – at a discount, as the furniture was used. The budget was strained, but still intact.

That was the good news.

Unfortunately, Hermione's parents had seen a Galleon, and put that together with her announcement of owning a company; that this coincided with a downturn in their investments seemed fortuitous to them. Hermione was mightily resisting their assumption of ownership of Ancient Traditions Publishing, especially given that they were more inclined to liquidate it than continue the fledgling operation.

"You are eleven years old. _**Eleven**_. You can own nothing of yourself, as you are a minor, so proper ownership rests in your parents. You will turn over your keys and books to us immediately."

Hermione was spitting mad – almost literally; she had flecks of foam beginning to accumulate at the left corner of her mouth. "I don't have the books, I don't have the money, and there isn't anything to give you but debt, anyway." Mrs. Dr. Granger recoiled a bit with that news. "I've taken out a loan from the magical bank, and there isn't any income until the last part of next _August_, so whatever your problem is can't be solved by being even more in debt than you already are." She flounced out of the room with an unspoken, _So There!_ and resolved to review her contract with Sharon.

The Dr.s Granger attempted guilt and leaning on familial connections next, but they had rather thoroughly burnt their bridges with their previous argument; actually, they had completely burnt their bridges by raising Hermione with their examples of greed, social climbing, and narcissism. When her father artfully 'confessed' that they were overextended and couldn't meet their payments without her money, Hermione was unmoved. She responded that they were able to contract the debts without her help or advice, so they would just have to deal with the consequences the same way.

To be honest, both Granger adults were never convinced that this would work, but they had to make a run at it. So they let their pleas go unheard – they would certainly have acted the same way in Hermione's shoes, after all – and the matter dropped off their radar.

Hermione kept it front and center for a while longer, though. Enough to pen a letter to Sharon, directing her that Hermione' parents had no authority over ATP, and that Hermione would need a small disbursement of profits for her school supplies.

-o-

On November 6th, Hermione received a parcel through the mail. It contained a report from Sharon, and a set of seven books. They were clearly a set, with heavy cloth covers and titles in a clear, medium weight serif typeface. _Transfiguration_, _Charms_, _Potions_, _Herbology_, _Astronomy_, _Defense Against The Dark Arts_, and _History_, all for First years. Hermione paged through one, and found a … typical, boring book.

_**Squee**_!

On further investigation, though … Hermione grabbed the letter.

… _all professors at Hogwarts have been given a set of their textbooks, covering all the years they teach. We are soliciting corrections and ideas for relevant diagrams, sketches, etc., which will be incorporated in the final editions. We have not yet been selected as the preferred textbook provider for the school, but I suspect that will happen before next year, which will help give legitimacy to our efforts to expand into other markets. Our final editions won't be ready for at least three months, but we've made some improvements to our work flow to decrease the time it takes to incorporate the new content._

_I've sent you a set of our preliminary editions for ideas on improvements. Our staff now stands at:_

_Owner: Hermione Granger_

_Operations Manager: Sharon Latheham_

_Layout Designer: Brenda Gwynne _

_Sketch Artist: Lacy Screven_

_Each are Hogwarts graduates, muggle-born, and quite eager to use technology to improve magical items. I don't anticipate needing any more staff, because our production process will be finished by staff of Flourish & Blotts, under our license! Not only with this lower our costs, we will have better sales and acceptance going forward; the free preliminary editions to Hogwarts staff paid off quite handsomely…_

Hmm. _Oh, right – I forgot to give her the possible hire list from Hogwarts. Oh well; she seems to not have needed it_. She paged through the Astronomy text, to find blank spaces where the diagrams would presumably go. Herbology would be the text that might use sketches the most, so they might need to get some officially approved artwork for that. She made a note to tell Sharon that she already had the artwork – another thing she had forgotten to pass on.

For comparison, Hermione opened up her math textbook from school: there were a few refinements in layout that might be useful to the magical texts, callout boxes among them …

Hermione began riffing through the pages of her muggle textbook. _Color_! There were no full color pages, obviously, not in a math textbook, but charts and diagrams all had at least red and black combined. With an appropriate spell, their text could – and even should – have color emphasis. And … Hermione paged toward the back … a glossary, references, suggested reading, an _index_!

She began to write her return suggestions frantically. There was so much work to do!

The next months passed quietly, with few attempts by the Dr.s Granger to appropriate Hermione's company. In view of her parents impending penury, she confined herself to book runs to the library, rather than a local book shop, much less Flourish & Blotts. Sharon received a few more imperious missives that were returned rather firmly; indexing, Hermione was informed, took a great deal of time and effort, may require more staff, and would not be attempted for the first edition. _Or many editions beyond that_. Hermione was consoled with the idea that there would **be** more editions, devaluing all previous editions, so there wouldn't be much of a used book market for a number of years. The lure of imagined money was quite strong – Hermione showed her upbringing regardless of how much she may have detested it.

The winter melted into spring, and in May Hermione was asked to come to the office. On arrival, she was introduced to Brenda and Lacy.

Both were quite uncomfortable to find that their ultimate boss was a rude young lady that had yet to set foot in Hogwarts, but after a few insincere sentences about how glad they all were to meet each other, the two ladies disappeared into another room.

"Hermione, your business is doing fine. We just need your approval for final production on the textbooks, and we need to decide what else we can produce." Hermione perked up at that. _More books?_ She was all for that!

The textbooks were laid out for her perusal. The primary group of textbooks were all in A5 size, with sturdy covers in a natural cream color, with the year and subject printed on the cover and spine. There were additional books for the 5th and 7th years, larger (A4 size) and thicker. They were the "O.W.L. Edition" and the "N.E.W.T. Edition", with all previous years text included. "These go for a … premium," murmured Sharon, behind Hermione as she paged through them. The text seemed to be the same size, set in the center of the larger page, in the fashion of medieval legal texts. "It facilitates notetaking and revision," explained Sharon. Hermione nodded, remembering the earlier explanation. She understood it better, now.

There were a set of textbooks that followed the same pattern as the primary textbooks, but were covered in a darker brown leather, with different subjects; Runes and Muggle Studies were the ones on top of the stack. "These are the five electives that Hogwarts teaches, and we have all these textbooks done, too."

Hermione looked around at the absolute bounty of printed material. "How many books have we produced in total?"

"Ninety eight."

"And how many more books do you think we should work on?"

Sharon hesitated. Finally she said, "I've got a list of about ninety more that we should probably take a look at."

"And what are your projections for sales and profit?"

Sharon smiled. "We know that there are 140 students at Hogwarts: 20 per House, seven years each. If each student buys only the books required for their year, then we can break even this year with a book price of 2, 15, and 21." At Hermione's bewildered expression, she clarified, "Two Galleons, 15 Sickles, 21 Knuts. If we are also able to sell to all those students outside of the Hogwarts system, we could break even with a price of 3 sickles per copy." She added, "That assumes that we are allowing Flourish & Blotts to conjure long-lasting copies for sale to their customers. If we want to transfer text to a muggle-produced blank book, the numbers change a bit, because we would have to set up our own shop."

Hermione squinted into the far distance, trying to figure out what the optimum price and strategy would be. Sharon waited patiently, but Hermione finally gave up.

"I don't really know what the best course would be," she confessed.

"I have the sales numbers for the last seven years from Flourish & Blotts," Sharon told her. "We can run some projections in a spreadsheet and pick the best course from there."

"I want all of our books to be permanent, probably non-conjured," Hermione told her. "But the price … needs to be under 2 galleons. We can drop the price later, once we have a firm idea on how much we're selling, and we can keep the used book market low by releasing new editions every few years."

"Why would we need to do that?" asked Sharon, clearly amused.

"It will give us a constant income with minimal effort. We can add color, format changes for clarity, additional diagrams and pictures, various levels of indexing, and updated information from instructors," Hermione explained. Sharon could see that Hermione was set on her course, and would not be diverted.

"Um, Hermione, …"

"Yes?" The girls voice was rather hard.

"First of all, your tone of voice is making my magical vows act up, please moderate your tone," instructed Sharon.

Hermione reacted as if the mild verbal slap had been physical, and sat back in shock.

"Second, we have to be careful about how we earn money if we have paying off the goblins as a priority."

Hermione drew her brows together, but kept her silence. Her face made her question quite apparent all by itself.

Sharon sighed. "The loan contract you have with the goblins specifies that we must pay one-half of all our profit until the loan is able to be repaid. If we simply pay them all our profit, we can pay the loan off in a minimum time frame. Note that this minimum payment schedule has us paying twice the amount borrowed." She fixed Hermione with a pointed look. "Half of our profits, and the payment of the principal out of the remaining half. Any other payment schedule will be paying even more to the goblins unless you pay them off with your own money. And since you did not organize the company to pay you a salary as the Director …"

Hermione could fill in the unstated portion of _that_ sentence. _Paying off the goblins will impoverish the company – and myself – if that's the priority._ Fortunately, Hermione had enough education in logic to understand that this meant that paying off the Goblins could _not_ be a priority, and realized that this was just something she had to accept: the highest priority had to be the survival of the company, not the generation of profit.

Well, that fit nicely with her personal priority of making sure that her parents couldn't squeeze a single half-pee from her. How dare they try to take away her book company!

Sharon had printed out a spreadsheet where she listed the possible textbooks to produce, number of their expected audience, and possible price points and profit breakdowns for the trade. They had settled on 1G per book, which was significantly cheaper than existing Wizarding books, and which offered a hefty profit margin for permanently existing texts. The downside is that they were banking on selling to the home-schooled market; without them, the company would not be profitable (not without marking up the textbooks to higher than the current prices.) The sales figures for textbooks in previous years led both women to believe that they would be successful in taking over the home-schooled market.

The company structure was also altered so that Hermione was able to draw a bit of a salary for her back-to-school shopping. This would naturally set back the goblin repayment a bit, but as it would also mean that her parents would be less likely to interfere with the business, both ladies (older and younger) counted it as a necessary thing.

-o-

Clearly, Lacy thought, the books will all need some sort of artwork. Title page embellishments, diagrams, wand motions, potion prep examples … for an artist, this job was a gift from _Merlin_! So obviously, the thing she had to be worried about was working herself out of a job; that kid couldn't be trusted to keep this gravy train moving.

The boss, Sharon, probably had some plans of her own. Lacy had seen that type before. So if Lacy could reveal those plans, Hermione would be indebted, and would turn to _Lacy_ for advice … which would naturally include all sorts of art-related product lines …


	8. Skewing The Demand Curve

**Skewing the Demand Curve**

ATP, under the able guidance of Sharon, was producing books faster than Hermione could queue up improvements for them: this led to an uncomfortable decision for Hermione.

"We already have the copies ready to send to the Professors at Hogwarts, Hermione. We can't redo everything at this point!"

"But with the glossary entries, we can add an entire section at the end of each lesson! And what about a 'How To Use This Book' chapter?"

Sharon sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Hermione, we will have to wait for the next edition for all that. We've got typeset replacements for every textbook that Hogwarts currently has. We haven't even been able to finalize the layout templates for color sectioning in the potions textbooks, so that won't be happening this year, either." The only improvement that Hermione had been able to force through for the first editions was a fold-out sketch of the solar system that (in magical hands) acted as a clock-work orrey. She desperately wanted more improvements than that.

Sharon tried again, "Hermione, we need to have all the books for Hogwarts done at the same level each year so that no professor feels that they are being slighted. Right now, we have workable editions. Our second editions can feature as many enhancements as we can fit in, but only if they are ready for all subjects. What we've got right now is good enough, and we need to turn our sights to what's achievable, not what's perfect."

Hermione had a mutinous look on her face – apparently, she had forgotten that she was technically in charge of the operation. Sharon did not want to remind her just now.

It was time to change the subject. "We also need to hire a few more staff; I've gotten a contract from the Ministry to supply standardized forms for most of their departments. The major holdouts are 'Games and Sports' and 'International Cooperation'." Hermione changed her expression from mutinous to inquisitive; Sharon continued, "Both are staffed with the most traditional of fusty oldsters, so they don't want to try anything new."

Hermione snorted, "Like paper instead of parchment?"

Sharon nodded, completely seriously, "Exactly like that. But we're introducing paper forms in standard business sizes, and if all goes well, we can introduce paperclips in a few years."

Hermione was agog.

Sharon smirked a little. "Not really." She paused. "We'll only have to wait about six months, I think."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We'd be better off to build a new Ministry instead." Hermione changed the subject back to her current obsession, the opening of their shop. "Do we have the shop location picked out yet?"

Sharon stifled a sigh. Meeting with an eleven year old boss was emotionally tiring; she had asked at least twice per meeting at _each_ meeting in the last three weeks. "We have two possible locations, and I'm trying to negotiate a favorable lease. We have a several months before we need to have the books in a shop, and we're going to be ramping up production of government forms in the meantime. We just don't have the attention to spare for changes at this point, so we have to put them off for the next year's editions." She didn't share her worries that stocking the shop would be the point where they failed: there wasn't anything the little sawed-off martinet could do about it except make everyone more on edge.

"Are you sure that we can get customers away from Flourish & Blotts?"

Sharon's sigh wasn't stifled this time. "Yes, Boss – we will be mentioned by name in the letters sent to every student, and there will be a small map to guide them to our shop."

Hermione ignored Sharon's annoyance with long practice; it wasn't as if she wasn't experienced in creating such reactions, and Sharon would just have to put up with it.

"Is there anything that I need to do for ATP before I go home?"

Sharon decided that putting it off wouldn't improve anything. "There is one minor item."

Hermione turned to face her manager.

"When someone with no familial connections enters the Wizarding World, they are assigned a 'Magical Guardian' who handles all legal issues on behalf of the underage witch."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "So somebody is going to get legal control over me?" Her tempter rising along with her tone.

"Not quite," reassured Sharon, "they would only be called on if there were any issues and your parents were out of contact."

"But my parents are Muggles! They can't use a floo, or apparate, or …" she wound down as she understood the implications.

"And if your parents did retain some magical representation, they may be able to have your magical business transferred out of your name." Hermione sucked in her breath in instant fury and horror.

"So," Sharon continued, "I believe that it is in both of our interests to have your magical guardianship settled before you enter Hogwarts, and the matter is taken out of your hands. The simplest resolution, if you agree, is to have _me_ appointed as your guardian, so that ATP will be permanently in your control."

"Oh, yes!" agreed Hermione.

"Oddly enough, this is one of the first forms that I had re-designed for the Ministry," Sharon said, pulling two papers from her briefcase. A short paperwork session later, Sharon was ready to submit the forms.

As she got up to pay their lunch tab, she added, "Oh, and I almost forgot. Lacy found that we can join the London Stationers Company and use their livery for a minor annual fee. That will give us a great deal of credibility in our circles, so I went ahead and applied on behalf of ATP. Your membership card will be coming in a few weeks."

Hermione knew more about this than Sharon had assumed – she immediately asked, "Where in the order of precedence does the Worshipful Company of Stationers lie?"

Sharon had to regain her dominance. "It's the Worshipful Company of Stationers and Newspaper Makers, and they – we – are 47th."

"Pity," Hermione said absently. "My parents could join the Worshipful Company of Barbers, and they're 17th. It would have been helpful if we could take precedence over them."

With that, the meeting adjourned, and Sharon paid for their lunch meeting.

-o-

The finalized editions with magical artwork were _amazing_! The astronomy textbook had a diagram of the solar system that could be expanded to show detail of any portion, and would automatically show the correct position of all celestial bodies given a date and time. The potions diagrams for ingredient preparation and stirring looked very professional, and the herbology sketches swayed in the nonexistent breeze. And the title page of every book had a livery shield that was _definitely_ theirs and _not_ stolen in any way.

Hermione practically _vibrated_ as she hugged her books to herself.

The Muggle office had been finalized and stocked, so ATP moved out of their rented offices at the end of April. With the layout work finished, the staff of three adults turned their attention to actually producing the volumes and their new Ministry contract.

Reproducing the government forms on paper wasn't a chore, actually, it was the interminable meetings where every member of the government offices had to have a say, and catering to all their conflicting opinions. Revision after revision went through their hands, and each day a new follow-up meeting was scheduled.

In addition, stocking the magical store was weighing on Hermione's mind. In consultation with Sharon, she established that each of her employees could easily generate enough magic to copy the text of about fifty books each day. In order to keep the workload manageable, she told Sharon to establish a quota of making 20 per staff per day – which would allow them to stockpile enough books for the rush in August.

She hoped.

In the meantime, they had several months to finagle the Ministry of Magic into adopting muggle style stationary and supplies, which would bring much convenience to the workers there.

Again, she hoped. But in this case, Sharon reassured her that once they discovered how paper folded flat and thinly, and how standard office sizes allowed for easier filing, there should be no going back.

Sharon spent the majority of her life in the Muggle world. Both of them should have known they were forgetting something.

-o-

The first Tuesday in March, Hermione received a telephone call shortly after she got home from school. "Hello?"

"Hermione? This is Sharon. We have a problem. Are you alone? 'Cause I need to come over."

Hermione stuttered, "Y-y-yes?" and then was listening to a dial tone. Before she had the time to take another breath, there was a 'pop', and Sharon was there in front of her.

"The Ministry needs spells focused on paper instead of parchment. All of our office spells are based on parchment," Sharon reported, cutting to the chase.

Hermione was frozen – she had no clue what to do. Sharon was almost buzzing with the need to do something, and she had no direction in which to unleash her energy, further intimidating Hermione. Hermione asked for more information to cover her indecision. "Why is the Ministry looking into paper instead of parchment?"

"They have had a number of problems with owls delivering interoffice messages, but the last straw was a contagious infection that killed over ¾ths of their owl delivery service. They simply can't get the messages delivered between offices right now, and the paper salesmen have demonstrated a spell that makes the paper self-delivering, kind of like a paper airplane."

Hermione still had no clue what to do. Finally, Hermione asked, "Can we be profitable without selling paper, just sticking to forms?"

Sharon ground out, "Yes," between her clenched teeth.

"Is there another company trying to move the Ministry to paper?"

Again, a forced, "Yes," answered her question.

Hermione's brain started turning over again. "Approach them and offer to print their book of office spells in A6 size, with Lacy's drawings for wand movement. Give it a descriptive table of contents and a small index. We will keep the printing and publishing business, and leave the office supplies to them." She paused for a moment's thought and then added, "And make sure that the contract is for publishing this volume only, and that it doesn't contain any restrictions on republishing these spells in our own volumes."

Sharon settled down a little. "Our turnaround for producing this little book would have to be within a week … hmmm …" Sharon thoughtfully tapped her chin with her wand as she talked to herself. "Okay," Sharon said abruptly, "I believe that I can make this work." She focused on eleven-year-old Hermione. "Do you have any plans for selling this collection of spells later?"

Hermione tried to act mature, but then just spilled everything in a rush. "I was just thinking that this would get our work into the hands of the government, and that we should do it at cost this time. Later we can make a profit, but this time we just need to make sure that the Ministry sees what we can do, and starts relying on us."

Sharon's eyes narrowed as she thought. "We will have to have two proposals ready; one for selling the book ourselves, and one for creating the book and giving it to them to duplicate and sell."

Hermione's response was instant. "We have to have the rights to use the spells in another book, no matter which option they choose. And I'd prefer that we do the duplicating – our work shouldn't be messed up by another company." She added, as another thought struck her, "And does this paper company have pure-blood leadership?"

Sharon smirked at that, "No, they are all new to the magical world."

"Good. Meet with them and assure them that we will not attempt to sell blank books or loose-leaf paper; we only want to produce and sell printed material. And let them know what we're paying for our raw materials, and ask them if they can do better." Some of those books on the business world were actually helpful, even if they were at a ten-year-old level.

Sharon's smirk grew. "Exactly, boss." And then she popped away.

-o-

The stationary company that won the contract to supply the Ministry with Muggle-standard paper (albeit in a higher quality than Muggles used) was very amenable to working with another non-pureblood company. They freely gave their in-house developed spells to ATP for inclusion in whichever spell compendium they wanted. And thereby hung a tale, making Hermione's eyes go wide and her naiveté to shatter.

There was, in fact, another company that was seeking to supply the Ministry for Magic with their paper supplies, and they had developed a full arsenal of spells to deal with forms and filing, and information that had been deposited on paper – a great investment they were confident to recoup over time. They were also controlled by a pureblood consortium that was making great headway in squeezing out any rivals that were … less traditional than themselves (i.e., half-bloods or Muggleborn.)

Part of their plans were to cast copying spells on all the paper supplied to the Ministry, so that all the Ministry paperwork would be duplicated and in the pureblood's hands. This was part of their confidence in developing the managerial spells. They were, however, quite neglectful of basic operational security, and had mentioned their plans in one of their business lunches … where one of the serving girls overheard. She wouldn't have known what to make of their elliptical remarks were it not for the business plan she had helped her boyfriend put together weeks before.

Accordingly, the next round of drinks served to the distinguished gentlemen had the addition of 1 gram of Chloral Hydrate added to each of their whisky glasses; the young lady was nervous about the customers noticing the orange odour and colour, but as this was at least the third glass each man had during their meal, it wasn't even remarked upon. Fifteen minutes later, all occupants of that private room were solidly dozing, and she was able to copy all their paperwork and send it off to her boyfriend. ("How?" "Gemino charm. Don't interrupt, please…")

The Ministry was easily persuaded to run a head-to-head trial of the stationary provided, and the purebloods were caught out at the extra spying charms, while the Muggleborn crew were able to sweeten their deal with printed books detailing all the spells that the other company had promised to provide.

A spur-of-the-moment inspiration had led one of the Muggleborn to sign their contract with a fountain pen rather than a quill, and the _very_ interested Ministry representative was told, "We aren't quite ready to make these available to the general public. I'd be happy to give you this one, but …"

"But what?"

Very delicately, "Your wand wood – may I inquire as to which wood you have developed an affinity to?" (Which in the Wizarding world, was a reasonable delaying tactic.)

And the new company has had to scramble to develop a manufacturing process that would be able to create fountain pens in all common wand woods – but there was another set of spells that needed to be compiled and printed. Also potions for the new inks and ink-removing solutions.

ATP, in the persons of Hermione Granger and Sharon Latham, were quite thrilled. _More reference books essential for every office worker!_

-o-

The Eighth Class, as it came to be called, was an indispensable addition to anyone dealing with printed material or office work – or at least, that was how it was billed. In early June, ATP was fully stocked and ready for the new school year, and they opened their doors in Diagon Alley. Three weeks went by, with their only sales being the Eighth Class spellbook to the Ministry staff … and then the Wizarding world went crazy.

A carpenter, one supplying the new trade in fountain pens, had visited the Ministry to turn in some required paperwork in regard to his increased sales, and to assure the overbearing clerk that just because he was working with 'wand woods', he was not illegally manufacturing wands.

He inquired into the nifty little book that the clerk kept consulting, and within two minutes, the carpenter was sold. A sensible layout, legible, explanatory sketches and diagrams, table of contents and index … and the clerk mentioned that the Hogwarts curriculum was being reissued in this format. Do you have to attend Hogwarts to buy this? Not that anybody told me, said the clerk, and do you know that to boot, the prices are lower than any of the original books?

Well, the carpenter checked out their little shop, and purchased the entire seven year set. "I have a daughter," he explained, "and we're not the sort that gets allowed into their fancy castle for classes. But with these, she don't have to!" And he told his fellow fathers down at the pub that night, and the next morning … ATP almost had to close their doors because of lack of product to sell.

They had purchased 30,000 blank books, which equated to 300 sets of textbooks (and a bit.) Sharon calculated that they had almost cleared the amount of Goblin debt they had taken out last autumn, and they really hadn't even began sales to their core market – or perhaps, they needed to reconsider who their core market was? As one of their customers had put it, "This is a Hoggy eddycashun fer under 100 Galleons!"

Hmmm …


	9. Joining The Dance

**Chapter 9. Joining the Dance**

The summer shopping season brought enough profit to comfortably keep ATP running through another year just through textbook sales. Half was dutifully remitted to Zithrick Rawfin Halist, who simply received the moneybag with a blank nod.

"Would you or your representative care to inspect our books?"

"There is no need. We will know if we are being defrauded." Zithrick cocked an ear. "Why are you not attempting to keep some of this profit for yourself?"

Hermione bared her teeth – a deliberate attempt to use Goblin mannerisms to warn him off, as she had been coached. "Are you suggesting that you are open to such an act?"

His ear resumed its normal position.

Hermione, following the careful drilling of Sharon, moved into his personal space and adopted an expression of encountering an inexcusable smell. (The expression was stolen from her mother, to great effect.) "You may allow such a thing, but I do not. You have insulted my honour. Perhaps you should rethink your decision to take on adult responsibilities."

Zithrick took a step back and bowed low. "You have my unreserved apologies. No insult will be given you in the future."

Hermione stood stock still and met his gaze when he straightened up. He pulled a second moneybag from a pocket at his waist, and began transferring some of his payment into it. After a few handfuls, he hefted the bag, added a few more coins, then offered it to Hermione.

"In recompense for the insult, I offer ten percent of your payment to me." While it was very definitely _not_ said, the question, _is this enough?_ hung in the air between them.

Hermione decided not to press her luck, and accepted the weregild with her right hand. Zithrick relaxed a bit, and disappeared into Gringott's. There were a few people that had gathered to watch the confrontation, but as it was over quickly, most wandered away. One adult moved to grab Hermione's arm, but quickly aborted the move at her sharp glance. "How did you do that?" he blurted out.

He was on the short side for an adult, somewhat portly, with hair that was amazingly flyaway – and it apparently _supposed_ to look like that.

Hermione pursed her lips and replied in her haughty imitation of her parents, "_I_ try to do my research – but the matter is closed." She went on her way, unimpeded by the thin crowd. None of them were carefree enough to interrupt someone who could get a payment _returned_ to them! Even partially!

-o-

Hermione's Hogwarts shopping was funded by ATP – keeping her from clashing with her parents – and Sharon had another opportunity to set before her boss. Sharon was becoming a little fond of the kid, but was still wary of the reins that her contract imposed upon her. But even so, she was more worried about the Wizarding world in general.

"Boss, the Wizarding world is based on families, and to them, you have none. There is a way to find any family if you can claim one, and I think you should try it."

Hermione was quite conscious about the coffers of ATP and her own purse. "How much will this cost?"

"This is very much a long-shot," Sharon frowned, "but the initial request is free. If there is no Ministry-recognized family that you can claim, the fee for registering one is generally steep, but I think that it's based on the number of people in that family. You can always decide not to go through with it, but I believe that it would be worth your while."

Hermione was a tad suspicious of that, especially after hearing about the corporate espionage and skullduggery surrounding supplying the Ministry. "Why, exactly, would you believe that?"

Sharon had quickly learned her boss's warning signs – there weren't many showing, but she immediately caved, anyway. "If you can show that you are following traditions, you won't be as tempting a target for the Purebloods. We have just upended a small corner of the economic order, and Flourish & Blotts has got to be feeling the pinch – which means that there is at least one pureblood family that is looking into why they are missing their yearly profit."

Hermione quickly translated that into, _your success may open you to an actual threat_, and agreed.

At the Ministry (which was less than 5 seconds away by side-along apparition), Sharon led her frizzy-haired and haughty boss to the Reception desk. After presenting their wands and obtaining a receipt, they moved past the bank of lifts, and wound their way to a shadowed corridor, with an open window showing an office that was dead to the world. The sign over the large window read, 'Office of Familial Registries.'

Sharon sniffed, and used her wand to target a bell hanging on the far wall of the office. The ring sounded unnaturally loud in the deserted area.

Presently, a side door opened to reveal several people shuffling in, redefining the word "ancient." One man separated from his fellows and wheezed, "What do you want?"

Sharon briskly said, "I have a Muggle-born witch, here, and I believe that she may be related to a registered Family."

He smacked his lips together in preparation for speaking, then finally wheezed out, "Matrilineal line?"

Hermione supplied, "Wilkins."

He thought for a bit, then smacked his lips together twice. "Nope. Patrilineal line?" He coughed at the effort of speaking.

"Granger."

His eyebrows rose – and because of their size, it was quite noticeable. "Kezia!" he shouted (i.e., wheezed at a higher volume.) "This one's (cough, cough) yours!" Then he shuffled off to a seat at what was presumably his desk.

An old woman wrapped in several shawls used her cane to assist her in the long trek to the front window. Hermione and Sharon had locked glances at one point, but refused to meet each other's eyes again during that long wait, for fear of being overcome with giggles.

When the woman finally arrived, her chin was a bit lower than the bottom of the window. Her dark eyes peered up at them, then she abruptly demanded, "Name?"

Hermione almost swallowed her tongue, but managed to blurt out, "Granger."

The old crone jabbed her cane into the floor and straightened to the extent that her hunched form would allow. "Granger. Deeded all family property, revenue, debts, income, rights, and privileges irreversibly to the Dagworth-Granger family in 1622. Dagworth-Granger family died in Algiers in 1802 during the Barbary Coast War. The death of Horatio Dagworth-Granger and his son, Munifort Dagworth-Granger, left the family consisting of Horatio's wife, Lucretia Dagworth-Granger nee Bianchi, who left the family when she remarried in 1807 to Lester Zonko, heir to the noted joke emporium. After the customary century and a half waiting period, no family members had presented themselves, so the family was declared extinct during the Wizengamot Session of Death of 1957. After the Declaration, no heirships may be declared."

Hermione blinked, and without conscious thought asked, "What's the Session of Death?"

The old lady gave a small laugh. "The last session of the year is when the rolls are adjusted to note the ending of lines and the disowning of family members. After the Declaration," and Hermione could hear the capital letters, "the seat that the family has on the Wizengamot is released, and they can hold no office or exercise any authority in the land." As an afterthought, the crone remarked, "The first session after the Session of Death is the Session of Birth, both to take place during the month of March, one from the first to the seventh, the other from the twenty-first to the twenty-eighth."

"Ah," recognized Hermione, "you still use the Julian calendar?"

There was a small smile on the old woman's face, revealing toothless gums. "After a fashion. The dates are Gregorian, the occasions are Julian."

Sharon deftly stepped into the conversation, obviously attempting to steer it along. "Very well. We need the registration forms to declare a new House, with one member."

The gaze of the old woman wasn't feeble in any way. "Registration of a new House requires a copy of the House rolls, a certified and attested copy of the House bylaws, and a nonrefundable 500 Galleon fee. After receipt of all registration materials and fees, the Wizengamot will announce the application at their next regularly scheduled meeting. There will be a waiting period of at least six months and no more than seven years, after which the Wizengamot will certify the House and appoint an Associate's Chair for the House representative. If the House acquits itself with honour, three generations later the House may be enrolled as a full voting member of the Wizengamot," she recited.

Hermione returned the old lady's glare with calm firmness. "We simply need the forms. What we do with them afterwards will only become your business when we return."

The laughter disguised as a coughing cackle surprised Hermione, and she felt Sharon start a bit at her side. "If you ever return!" And she waddled / shuffled / lurched with her cane into the dim corner of the office. A small sheaf of parchment floated quickly toward the two women, and Sharon swiped them from the air, quickly thumbing through them. "I _changed_ these," was her outraged cry.

The response from an unidentifiable minion was, "We still have to shift our existing stock. Should last over 500 years at this rate …"

Sharon's visage indicated that someone's murder was imminent as she stalked out into the regular corridors of the Ministry, Hermione in tow.

-o-

As August passed, the ride to Hogwarts loomed in Hermione's mind like … something large and implacable. Something capable of looming very … large. It was amazing that, for a child as immersed in literature as Hermione was, her vocabulary deserted her when such an appropriate occasion presented itself, but there you are.

Hermione had gratefully embraced the new fad of fountain pens and paper, and her new vinewood pen was nicely artistic according to the newest style. The carpenters had realized early that the call for wand-wood pens would lead to a shortage of that valuable resource, so a visionary Master Carpenter had directed his assistants to collect castoffs of each type of wood and assemble them together. (Hermione inspected her pen and found that glue was assisting the magic in that assemblage.) Then the wood was turned and finished to showcase the contrasting grains of the component pieces.

The salesman was confidently explaining to Hermione (and Sharon, but she was definitely not paying attention) about the magic used to produce such a marvel, as if he had been in the trade for three _years_ rather than three _days_, but Hermione cut him off in mid-tirade, his robe showing his momentum after his words (and movement) had stopped.

"What do you have for ink selections?"

The salesman was startled. "We have … this black ink …" Hermione's haughty glare was making him quite uncomfortable.

"You need to look into the difference between pigment and dye based inks, as well as security features such as resistance to vanishing. A number of pre-made inks would be appreciated, as well as a recipe book for brewing standard inks and the supplies for doing so." Hermione tapped her wand to her chin as she perused the room. Her association with Sharon over the past 10 months transferred mannerisms as well as knowledge – both of which were intimidating the poor wizard.

Sharon took over, "She is a little exited. Perhaps you could let us talk to the shop owner? This is liable to get complicated." The wizard, with a look of profound relief on his face, guided them into the back room; a quiet office piled high with small boxes and stacks of paper.

"What? Oh," sputtered the office denizen. After the clerk had explained the visit and returned to his place of safety, the man behind the desk was slow to exit his daze. Finally, he said, "Yes, yes, welcome, I'm sorry I haven't a place for you to sit but as you can see …"

Sharon wasn't about to play with social niceties. "You are a muggle born, are you not?" He nodded, a bit taken aback. "And this shop is associated with …" she trailed off.

He picked up the cue smoothly, "… The wizarding paper company, Second Memory, miss."

"Ah, good. We are with Ancient Traditions Publishing, and I want to get some ideas to your backers before the opportunity is gone. Take this down."

Startled again, the wizard in worn black robes with inkstains on his sleeves, sat as his desk and grabbed a pen and paper.

"First, you need a demonstration area in your shop. Use a generic wood, low quality paper, and a generic ink. Also demonstrate a more expensive nib and a specialty paper. You'll get a lot more custom orders, and sell a lot more specialty paper. Look on the continent for nib stamping machines, and get one. Refurbish it, and establish that as the default – and only – nib size. As for ink," Sharon eyed Hermione and she took over without missing a beat.

"You'll want to be able to demonstrate several ink colors, all approved for use in the Ministry and Hogwarts, so black, blue, maroon, and perhaps a very dark green. Keep shelves full of bottled ink, in glass jars that are clean, and labels that are printed to clearly indicate the contents – we can give you a cut rate, there." She waited for the man to catch up.

"You will need two people to investigate new inks – one on the continent, in Muggle shops, and you will need to buy in bulk and relabel it. There are a lot of shimmers and color-changing inks for novelty, and there are some security features that the Muggle inks have you'll want to either copy or replicate through magic." Another wait as the man seemed quite excited.

"Second, you will need to contact potions masters to create inks: some recipes will need to be in the skill range of regular wizards and witches, and some will need to be master-only inks. Sell bottles of both. And you will need to contact us with all your spells for pen maintenance and recipes for inks, so we can produce a book for your customers. Every single one of these items can be a line of profit for you if you jump on it. Got that?"

The manager was writing furiously, and it didn't look like his notes were legible, but he nodded anyway.

Sharon took back control of the harangue. "Now, you can sell all the pieces; paper and pens and ink. You'll need to look at modern Muggle stationary stores and imitate their layouts to spur more sales. The more people that come in to gawk, the more that will decide to follow the crowd, and with enough sales, this will be a permanent business and not a temporary fad. Contact us for all your printing needs, and steal as many ideas from the Muggle stores as you can. Especially their advertising ideas – the only printing presses our world has are owned by newspapers, and they only print in black ink. For Merlin's sake, you can sell _color_ – make as much use of that as you can!"

The man was looking more harried, but also more energized as they quietly let themselves out. Stopping only to purchase Hermione's vine-wood pen in parquetry, and a bottle of iron-gall ink. (Hopefully to be replaced later, Hermione inwardly prayed.)

-o-

'Kezia' wasn't her name – nobody was referred to by their rightful names in this office – but she was actually tickled pink that there was activity in the Family Registration office. The staff had early been seconded into the Unspeakables department, as they were the employees most trained to resist mental, emotional, and physical coercion … and what would be more of a target than the legal recognition of Heads, Heirs, and Members? The introduction of a Muggleborn into the Wizengamot, using the recognized channels, was going to upset more than a few fiefdoms, oh, yes … and would make things much more interesting!

But not as interesting as when that little one realized that the waiting period was traditionally when the _established_ Houses tried to assassinate the _rising_ one …


	10. Absent Companions

**10\. Absent Companions**

The Hogwarts Express pulled away from Kings Cross at 11:00 precisely, carrying a number of children apprehensive, blasé, excited, and frantic. But none more frantic than Hermione Granger, who had ensconced herself alone in a compartment so she could spread out her notes and make plans.

_I only have 9 months! I have so much to do!_

Upon discovering that there were people just like her, Hermione had immediately jumped to the plan of having friends – and then trashed all such plans when ATP began operations; it was no longer important. Now, she had one overriding plan for her first year in Hogwarts.

Wholesale copyright piracy.

Made somewhat less egregious by the fact that the Wizarding world had not followed the Muggle world in establishing copyrights in the first place.

The tentative estimate of the size of the Hogwarts library (from Lacy – she had been the last of the shop to graduate) was somewhere around ten thousand books. Hermione felt that she could get about 15 books copied into one of their A5 journals, so … so, she would have to get a re-stock when she had burned through the 200 volumes she had in her multi-compartment trunk.

The thing she didn't have a good handle on was _time_.

_So, that's, um … oh, call it 45 weeks, so that's, um, a bit over 300 days, ten thousand divided by three hundred is, cancel the zeroes, that leaves ... 33 books a __**day**__?_

Maybe … two years?

-o-

While she was reviewing plans for marketing and expansion and the need for automation in the shop and reaching out to the guildsmen, a boy stuck his head into her compartment.

"Um, have you seen a toad? I mean, here on the train, he's, well, he's gone lost, and …"

Hermione pulled an A5 sheet from her planner, and began making a list. A few hurried lines later, she thrust it at the boy without looking at him. "Here's what you need to do. Find a sixth or seventh year – one with a prefect's badge would be obligated to help. They should have a passing familiarity with the summoning charm, so they can retrieve your toad without …"

The boy had backed up, hands spread wide, with a look of mixed bewilderment and terror on his face.

Hermione rolled her eyes, which had been perfected into a nearly aggressive act in and of itself. "If you can't follow simple directions, then there's no help for it. You will have to follow me," she said as she put her work aside.

Hermione had to reach back and pull this slightly pudgy boy out of the compartment and practically compel him to follow as she marched toward the front of the train. Two cars forward, they were passing by an open door and a girl's voice said, "So I think there's a way to change the color so we can see how it looks," and she automatically stopped marching to stick her head in the door.

"Color change for object surfaces is in first year charms, chapter 14, that's page 147. Object interiors, liquids, and gases are dealt with in sixth year charms, chapters 18 through 23 inclusive, although if you're familiar with butterfly wing iridescence, you might try a limited surface transfiguration."

The door remained open, but there was no sound other than Hermione's confident footsteps as she resumed her course. (Oh, and the almost soundless movement of the boy following her, as he tried to keep his existence from impacting the world in any way whatsoever.)

Finally, an observer might have been able to hear, "Um, page 147? Lav, do you have your book handy?"

-o-

She was in Gryffindor, although the Sorting Hat had revealed that she was a candidate for Slytherin as well, thanks to her obsession with printing and knowledge. However, it had chosen to place her elsewhere, "to keep the bloodshed to a reasonable minimum."

It never occurred to Hermione that it might have been protecting the other students instead of herself.

That pudgy boy was revealed to be Neville Longbottom, and he was also assigned to Gryffindor House, although he chose a seat quite far away from her. Hermione couldn't think of anything she had done to offend the lad, so she put it out of her mind.

Gryffindor had received Harry Potter was well, some sort of local celebrity that was short, unbearably messy, and had some sort of facial disfigurement. He also displayed characteristics of being completely bewildered by the world he lived in. She just shook her head in resignation – this world is completely ridiculous! – and resumed her planning and studies.

-o-

A completely bewildered yet silent student entered Hogwarts for the first time on September first of 1991. He understood that magic was behind the strange and wonderful and amazing happenings around him, but he was also acutely aware that he had no idea what magic was, how it worked, and (most important) how it could work for _him_.

In addition to being confused, he was also very anxious; at home there was only his rail-thin aunt and his very-**not**-rail-thin uncle to give him orders and punishments. (Cousin Dudley didn't count as he didn't have the attention span to tie his own shoes. Without Velcro, the boy couldn't have kept his trainers on for longer than five minutes. Not that he would really notice, as he couldn't see his feet, anyway.)

Here in this weird but very cool castle, there were lots of adults, all of whom felt that Harry could be ordered about at their whim. Harry knew this instinctively, and it was demonstrated before he'd even been assigned a place to sleep. He did not approve.

And the kids! The train ride was revealing: the majority didn't care about him (they were safe), quite a few were hostile (especially that blonde prat), and a few – well, one, actually – was kind. Unfortunately, he wasn't the one that wanted to be friends. With those odds, Harry felt … exposed. He needed a hideout. Somewhere to retreat. But … all these kids could go wherever he did. _Sigh_. It was going to be a long year.

One week later, Harry had almost given up this whole 'magic' lark and gone home. But then, his teacher had shown him the most amazing thing!

You see, you take a matchstick – just an ordinary piece of wood – and you can turn it into a needle!

A piece of _metal_. A _pointy_ and _sharp_ piece of metal.

This changed … _**everything**_.

-o-

On October 13 of that year at 7:03 am, Potions Master Severus Snape of the Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry was found just outside his private potions laboratory with his head sheared off. The line of separation was clean, but oddly, not straight; as if a sword had swung through his neck and then, half way through, changed direction to swing at an upward angle. An _extremely_ sharp sword. It didn't make any sense, as no spell would change direction like that, and very few wizards had the strength to achieve such a feat. Clean through a man's neck! Certainly, none of the students could do that, so there must have been an intruder in the castle … this extremely _secure_ castle …

There was a lot of racing around by the adults, but as the motive list encompassed a good fourth of the Wizarding World, the investigation didn't really get into gear. The Aurors were able to determine that there were no magical traces indicating an offensive spell, and there were no magical traces indicating defensive spells, either, which led everyone to assume that the perpetrator was infinitely cunning and wildly powerful. Also, an adult, because anything done in a physical way would require someone at least of equal height with the late Snape.

The only thing anyone observed that was unusual was that Gryffindor Harry Potter had left early that morning to make it to breakfast, grabbing a small bit of firewood from the common room as he made his way out the door. Mr. Potter had been practicing his basic transfiguration quite a bit over the last few weeks, so this was witnessed by an early-rising seventh year who immediately dismissed it, and it was immediately forgotten.

-o-

The student body was over 85 percent appreciative of this event, and speculation was rampant over who might have done it, how it might have happened, and why it happened (including why it took place on the morning of October 13th.)

Given Snape's obvious desire to offend everyone he encountered (as well as the complete lack of evidence around the crime), there was an overabundance of suspects and the speculation was wild. The entrepreneurial Weasley twins had considered taking bets on the eventual outcome, but foundered on the probable length of the investigation and prosecution; how would they hold the money for several years? Better not to begin, in this case.

Ravenclaw theories foundered on the lack of evidence; while each had their own pet ideas, none would publically air them. Hufflepuffs tended to focus more on the possibility of a criminal mastermind that could strike again; they were keeping their heads down.

Slytherins created the most amazing paranoid fantasies, and given that the most paranoid of them all had been struck down, they couldn't be reasoned with, as clearly, _paranoia seven layers deep was insufficient_! And Gryffindors dreamed of facing off against the criminal and trouncing him in an all-too-public duel. (Some dreamed of _being_ the perpetrator; for the upper years, it was a reasonable outlet for stress relief. They weren't going to change their dreams just because Snape was dead, after all.)

The one thing that all the would-be detectives had in common was foundering on a plausible way for the SnapeSlayer to enter and then leave Hogwarts without detection.

-o-

The classes on the 31st of October were … a mess. Hermione's best comparison would have been to think of classes held on Christmas day, were this the Muggle world – and were classes held on that day. _Perhaps that's why they aren't_, she mused.

Charms was particularly trying, as she had been partnered with one of the most useless students in her year – the voracious and oblivious young Mr. Weasley. To herself, Hermione had to admit that she was wound a little tight that week, as her work to duplicate the Hogwarts library had been slipping; she was now more than two whole weeks behind, and she was also unable to copy more than _ten_ books into each of her blank journals – meaning that she was burning through her supplies faster than she expected and was also working slower than she had planned … it made a girl a bit touchy, she had to admit.

So when Ron Weasley proved completely unable to pronounce the incantation, she had grabbed his wand hand, and fiercely muttered, "Win. Gar. Dee. Um. Lev. Ee. _Oh. _Saa!"

The feather had shot into the air and stayed at an altitude of two feet above the table, as steady as if it had been encased in lucite.

Still with his wand hand in hers, she snapped at the hapless boy, "Did you feel that? Did you?" At his frantic, wide eyed nodding, she hissed, "Say what I said, and make it feel like I did, and you can pass this lesson. But if you even think about pointing that wand of yours at me again …" she tilted her hand so that Ron's wand was pointed at his feather, and it compressed into an impossibly small red sphere before rebounding outward in a soundless explosion.

"Are we clear?" she snarled.

Ron nodded frantically.

"Good," and she sat back in her chair with her arms folded. Hermione was unaware that the expression on her face was fairly forbidding – dissuading even Professor Flitwick from commenting on the disruption or spellwork.

After the lesson, Seamus Finnegan tried to pump Ron for information on how the explosion had been done, but Ron steadfastly refused to answer questions, offer commentary, or even acknowledge that those events had even happened.

-o-

The evening of November 3rd brought with it a confrontation that Hermione had desperately tried to avoid. She was caught. In the library. By Madam Pince.

Nobody was around – the Sunday evening rush to do homework essays left the library almost completely deserted this evening. Hermione had a production line going – pull a book off the to-do stack, place it next to the target book, cast the copy spell, put it on the to-be-shelved stack. And then a voice came out of nowhere, from behind her …

"Explain." The demand was very forbidding. That it came from Madam Pince made it more so.

Hermione had no intentions of misleading the librarian, it was just a matter of presenting the truth in the best light. "I am trying to copy all the books in the Hogwarts library."

Madam Pince reached out to pick up Hermione's target book. Flipping through a few pages, she put it back down. "Show me the spells you are using."

Hermione dared hope that she might retain her library privileges. She took another of the to-do books, arranged the two books together, and cast the book duplication spell. Once the spell was done (all of 3 seconds or so), she placed the processed book on the stack.

"I believe that if I miscast the spell, the only book in danger would be the target volume …" Hermione trailed off as it was apparent that Madam Pince had her own impressions of what needed to be said.

"Where did you obtain that spell?"

Gulp. "Professor Flitwick sent it to a printing company, Ancient Traditions Publishing. I work for them."

Madam's voice was cool. And appraising. "That is the same spell I use. You are rushing the casting of the charm, and need to put more emphasis on the second syllable."

After a moment of silence, she added, "You wand gestures could stand to be less bold. It is not a conductor's baton."

Hermione stood waiting for more, or an opportunity to bolt; she was a long ways past 'tense'.

Finally, "Is there a responsible adult I could contact?"

"Yes!" Hermione scrabbled in her backpack a moment. She promptly turned to present a small rectangle of pasteboard to Madam Pince – a business card featuring the Name of her company with a small line, "Contact Sharon Latheham for inquiries."

Madam Pince fingered the card. "A visiting card … for a business?" she asked slowly.

"Yes, Madam Pince." She was about to blurt out the recent developments in business card history – anything since about 1650, really – but she managed to squelch the impulse.

There was another long pause, but Madam Pince at last spoke again. "I will contact Miss Latheham, and we will arrange to complete the endeavor that you have undertaken."

Hermione took that as dismissal, and reached for the books to reshelve them, but was preempted by Madam Pince. A wand flick made the books scatter and shelve themselves – and Hermione was entranced. "Is there somewhere I can read about the library spells you are using?"

An amused look came from the older witch. "If you are a good employee, I am sure you will be trained in the appropriate spells."

Hermione smirked in response, but said nothing. She snagged her backpack as she left the library.

-o-

The letter from Sharon that Hermione received on Wednesday morning almost made her squeal with delight.

_Hermione, _

_I have some good news, and some bad news._

_First, the Hogwarts library is not limited to ten thousand books. The stacks that are available to students hold __**fifteen**__ thousand books, and the restricted section holds an additional __**three**__ thousand. However, I have just been informed by Madam Pince that the restricted section is actually bait – it is the subject of unauthorized raids roughly three times each term, and as such, does not hold knowledge that is outside the norm. The archives of the library hold an additional __**thirty five thousand books**__, and these are very closely held indeed. _

_Obviously, sending you to surreptitiously duplicate the library was a fool's errand, and we should have investigated closer before we decided to go that route. You need not to continue attempting any more book copying on behalf of ATP, obviously._

_The good news is that we have an ally – a formidable ally. Madam Pince has offered to ship to us those copies she has already made of the entire collection, including those titles that the Ministry and the Headmaster desire to keep from circulating. She has alluded to the Unspeakable's library in disdainful terms, implying that they hold nothing that she does not already posess. _

_Even better is that she is supplying us with the entire contents of the Library for free, contingent upon our vow to protect the collection and to provide copies to the Hogwarts library upon request._

_We now have too much material to publish – and desperately need to automate our processes. I am asking for authorization to hire someone versed in computer and magical automation, or who is amenable to training and serving a period of indenture in return._

_Please reply quickly._

_Sharon Latheham_

**Eeeep!**

Fifty three thousand books!

Blankly, Hermione just scrawled "Yes!" on the letter and gave it to the owl. It looked at her and the letter several times before she realized she needed to tie the letter to the owl's leg, but once she did, it hoped to the edge of the table and left the Great Hall in flight.

-o-

"Okay – back up. Take it from the beginning."

"Yes, boss. Severus Snape exited from his private potions lab at 7:03 AM on October 13. As he left the doorway, his neck was sliced open, all the way across, front to back, with the cut mark rising sharply upwards once it passed 3 5/8 inches deep. He immediately died, as his head was completely separated from his neck, and the blood trail indicates that Snape's head and body were simply left at the scene; the criminal simply let them lie. There was a significant amount of sawdust sprinkled around the scene, but not enough to completely clean up the blood spray from the attack."

"Was there any active spells, spell marks, or other indications of magic exchanged between the victim and the attacker?"

"All tests indicate that there were no active spells, and there were no spell marks left in the surrounding area."

"Hmm," indicated the boss, "so either the attack was done with a physical edged weapon, or all spells cast hit their targets, right?"

"… either one is scary, boss."

"Yeah, but it's what we see." The boss shuffled some papers, and asked, "Does anyone have a theory about why the criminal tried to mop up the blood?"

"The sawdust was along the wall and doorway. Maybe they were trying to keep the blood from leaking into the room Snape just left?"

Another of the evidence team shook her head. "No need – the door was open, and if there was anyone in the room, they would have seen the attack to begin with."

The conversation took a great deal of time, but in the end, the Auror investigation team concluded that the killing of Severus Snape was the work of a team, at least two strong, that completely destroyed their wands at the scene to prevent connections being made. They were strong, they were insanely brash, they were skilled, and they were powerful. All in all, the signs pointed to a completely professional hit – and that was ignoring their ability to enter and exit Hogwarts undetected.

Were they assassins for hire? Might they be persuaded to help when all official complaints are ignored? Was there a way to call this Assassin-Team if you were in trouble?

So the legend and myth began. And only a few months later, there were whispers in the Wizarding pubs of the United Kingdom: if you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire... The A-Team.


	11. Reality Check

**11\. Reality Check**

At the close of 1991, the Hogwarts students were shipped home to celebrate the holidays, ostensibly, and they received their first of the year's two grading reports. Hermione Granger chose to have all of her correspondence from the Wizarding World sent through her Magical Guardian to avoid parental entanglements run amok.

It also meant that she was called on the carpet into her employee's office.

"Yes, Sharon?"

Sharon was either attacking a small pile of correspondence on her desk, or was in the process of being attacked by it – it was hard for any passers-by to tell. But the opened letter that Sharon was waving at Hermione did not bode well for the younger girl.

"Acceptables? Just why would you think that these grades would fly?"

Hermione's head bowed forward, hiding her face somewhat in a mass of chestnut frizz. Mumble.

"Hermione, speak up. Why are your grades so low?"

"The teachers hate me."

"Quite possibly, but unless you are doing something to help them mark you down, that dislike shouldn't result in marks like this. What's going on?"

"They all mark down my essays," Hermione mumbled. It was clear enough, however, to avoid a reprimand.

"Do you have one for me to look over?"

Hermione pulled a sheaf of paper form her bag and handed it over.

_Sigh_. "Granger, you are not as intelligent as you think." Sharon Latheham put the essay away after a cursory glance.

Hermione sat back, arms folded, and an expression of extreme stubbornness was very prominent on her face.

"Ok, then, tell me what you read. Literature?"

Hermione couldn't help herself, even though she was unwilling to cooperate. "All of Jane Austen, most of Charles Dickens, Alexandre Dumas, the Bronte sisters …" She was too embarrassed to admit that most of her reading was filled with teen adventure novels, and before she was out of her first years in school, she had plowed through the Boxcar Children, Nancy Drew, and similar juvenile series (Enid Blyton most prominently).

Sharon held up her hand to stop the onslaught. "And non-fiction?"

"I looked into physics, chemistry, biology, the soft sciences, economics, visual arts, history …"

Again, Sharon had to change the subject forcibly. "Tell me what you think of the soft sciences."

Hermione was non-plussed. "What?"

Sharon made a note on her paper. "Using the population of Hogwarts, walk me though how you would estimate the magical population of the UK."

Hermione sputtered, "You can't _do_ that! The student population is an unknown fraction of …"

Sharon interrupted, "You said you looked into the sciences. Which sciences have you selected for in-depth study?"

Hermione was bewildered. "Um, why do I have to choose?"

Sharon put her pencil down. "Hermione, you read incessantly, but your primary focus is fiction. You have a good overview of facts at the middle-school level, but you have not found yourself drawn to exploring any field of research in depth. Nothing in what you have said reveals an instinct to evaluate the facts you have received against each other, nor do you work on solving problems even approximately; without specific instructions for solving a problem, you are lost. You do not generalize."

Hermione shifted on her chair uneasily; she was offended, but knew that the evaluation was correct.

"You are making every attempt to gather information, but are not integrating it into a coherent understanding. You have no techniques for taking a field of knowledge apart. You are, in fact, a student that is imitating what she sees of the efforts of more intelligent students, but you are not achieving the same results that highly intelligent students receive. You have average intelligence, and you are acting as if you are several levels above your actual ability. Your driving need for facts is baffling to me, as you don't _do_ anything with those facts aside from trotting them out in conversation, perhaps to indicate that you know more than others." She tapped the end of her pen against her lips for a moment. "Granger, you are doing what a person of average intelligence assumes a person of high intelligence does. You are even less intelligent than I first thought, as you have failed to realize that you are not achieving the results that a brilliant person would accomplish."

Hermione was sitting back in her chair, looking for all the world as if she had just been clobbered over the head physically, instead of verbally.

"An analysis of your actions does reveal that you have strengths, just not the ones you thought. You have been using dogged persistence and hard work to substitute for above-average brains; the good news is that the future belongs to those that show up. You are actually better positioned to achieve anything than you would have been if you were merely intelligent. It is your work that makes you powerful, Miss Granger, not your brains. Please remember that for the future."

_Huh. I should have been … a 'Puff?_

Sharon let that sink in, but then continued, "And your essays are a prime example of that. You are simply reporting on what you've read, quoting verbatim, with nothing showing that you understand or evaluate what you've read. Let's look at this essay in particular …"

-o-

Later (by a few days), Sharon had another discussion with Hermione. "Have you given any more thought to registering as a Family?"

Hermione shook her head in the negative.

"Well, you should – think about it, I mean. We are beginning to have a solid business, here, and your control and ownership will depend on your business bylaws and your family regulations."

Hermione's puzzlement was plain. "We have bylaws?"

"Not really, but we should. It would cover how the business profits are dispersed, how ownership changes hands, what business opportunities we should and shouldn't be involved in, who has authority over the company, all that kind of thing."

Slowly, "Okaaay."

"And so I've set up an appointment with a contract lawyer for us during this holiday season."

-o-

Also during her winter break, Hermione (closely supervised by Sharon) spoke with the Guild of Magical Craftsmen. "We don't really have enough masters to be able to separate into crafts," said the middle aged man as he ushered them into the guild hall, "but we do all right when we can remember we're all on the same side."

Hermione and Sharon both thanked him as they sat at the center table. The room was most emphatically not dim or smoky; it had a medium height ceiling with walls a shade darker than pure white. Light came from several long windows set up against the top of the walls, and Hermione noticed that while it was gloomy and grey outside, the windows emitted light as if it were a bright spring day.

That was only first of their surprises. The craftsmen weren't unintelligent, reactionary, or prejudiced in any way – they were simply focused on getting their jobs done, in the most expeditious way possible. Nevertheless, Hermione nudged Sharon to lead the conversation.

"You may be familiar with our company, Ancient Traditions Publishing. We're using the latest in Muggle methods to make publishing and printing up to date, so that all of us can have magical textbooks that are the best we can produce."

"An' what have ye in mind fer us, lass?" asked an old codger in the center of the assembled men.

Sharon smiled her least threatening smile (and she had to work on that all last week). "I don't believe that the kids up at Hogwarts should be the only ones to have decent textbooks. While I don't know that there are enough of you in each field to make a specialty reference book practical, I thought that a compendium of all your craft spells that would be sold only through the Guild might be in order."

The hum of consideration swept through the Hall.

After a stressful negotiation, there was agreement: the Masters would collect the spells and potions they used, and submit them to ATP for publication. ATP would arrange the material and publish it in a format identical to the Hogwarts textbooks. The Guild would be the only outlet where that compendium would be available for purchase. ATP would sell each volume to the Guild at cost, plus a one-time fee of 350 Galleons.

They did have a minor distraction when some of the older men started arguing about the size of the paper used: there were proponents of Foolscap and a few for Imperial, with one vocal old man loudly demanding Emperor Quarto, but Hermione had sweetly explained that, "We use some muggle equipment in our process, so we can only use the paper sizes that is set up to use. We might be able to branch out to other sizes later, but right now, this is what we can do." And with that, she brought out a leather-bound A5 book containing the paper-oriented spells and the fountain pen focused potions. As it was a handsome volume, it served as an effective distraction, and the digression was put to rest.

ATP had another profit stream, small though it was, and had won the support of another constituency.

-o-

The legal appointment started off … oddly, and quickly veered into strange territory that Sharon found _terra incognito_. They entered a recessed door with the nameplate _Daniel Pierce, Solicitor._

"Welcome to my office," the man said as he stretched out his hand. He was on the early side of middle aged, so taking into account that he was a wizard meant that he was probably in his mid-60's.

Hermione was the first in the door, so she shook his hand and began her customary barrage. "We need a few contracts set up – are they self-enforcing? Can wizarding law apply to transactions that are not wizards? How did you become a lawyer, by the way? Is there a wizarding law school? Is there a bar exam? Or is it just an apprenticeship under an established lawyer? Is there a way to make a self-executing contract spawn another contract?"

About this time, Ms. Latheham caught up with her boss/ward, and laid a hand on her shoulder to interrupt the stream of questions. "I'm sorry, it's her first visit to a legal office …" But the man laughed quietly and dismissed her apology.

"It's quite all right. I will try not to frighten off such curiosity." He turned to Hermione. "I am Daniel Pierce, and I specialize in contracts and business law, but the only self-executing contracts that exist in the Magical World come from Goblins. Contracts in the magical world can bind non-magicals as well as non-human magical species, but they must have affirmative consent, whereas that is not always the case for wizards and witches. There is no magical law school; I served an apprenticeship where I read law and was admitted to the Bar through an oral exam with a Judge and two practicing lawyers. And I have no idea if you can – or why you would – create a self-executing contract that would create a secondary contract."

Hermione was stunned. She looked up at Sharon and murmured, "I think we can work with this one."

He smiled, and ushered them into his inner office.

Once seated, they inquired about creating a set of bylaws for ATP, and what it would take to have them registered as binding. That was a fairly quick discussion, until Hermione asked, "Can we include any doomsday clauses to keep ATP out of anyone else's control?" The phrase 'doomsday clause' came from a legal thriller that Hermione had picked up by mistake – and finished, of course; prose was prose was prose.

And from there, the conversation grew interesting, convoluted, and in some respects, just _nasty_. Hermione had no desire to keep her opponents alive, and was itching for an automated way for them to feed themselves into a shredder.

Then, Hermione asked again about self-executing contracts.

"If there's a way to get a contract to automatically evaluate conditions and then execute when the conditions are fulfilled, then couldn't we make the bylaws do that, too?"

The solicitor cleared his throat. "Yes, but that is only feasible for a contract that has very few triggering conditions. Once you get to say, five conditions, you end up with at least 32 possible end-states …"

And Hermione immediately broke in with, "And 10 conditions doesn't mean 64 end states, but over 1024 …"

Daniel Pierce was giving her an odd look. Hermione huffed. "Can we have part of this consultation at my business offices? I think there's something you should see." Daniel met Sharon's eyes, and after a silent conversation (primarily consisting of, _Is this safe?_), agreed.

Once the trio had entered ATP's muggle offices, Hermione led them to her small office. Firing up the computer, she began to explain, "You indicated that only the goblins do self-executing contracts, not that you didn't know how to make one. You further implied that the reason that you don't do that is because of the sheer number of states to track. But non-magical technology has come up with something that could be a solution for that issue …"

Hermione's computer had indicated that it was ready, and she brought up the spreadsheet. "Each of these little rectangles is a cell, and a cell contains information. Each cell is separate, and can calculate its value based on the value of other cells. So when you're tracking a large number of true or false statements, you could use this …"

"to determine how they all interact and what the end result will be!" Daniel gasped. His mind was a whirl. Sharon had seen this before – their newly hired automation specialist was a prime example – so she held Hermione back from interrupting the solicitor's creative trance.

It was a few moments later that he snapped out of it and turned to Sharon. "I will provide legal services for ATP, Sharon Latheham, and Hermione Granger for the rest of my working lifetime. In return, you will set me up with one of the wonder boxes and teach me to use it. You will also not reveal your working methods to any other magical unless they are covered by a confidentiality and nondisclosure agreement. Agreed?"

Sharon's eyes almost bugged out, but Hermione was quick to shake his hand. They quickly adjourned to the Solicitor's offices on Diagon Alley and signed the simple agreement that essentially turned them into partners. Limited ones, but partners. Sharon had some idea, but Hermione was completely unprepared for the manic cackling that erupted from Mr. Pierce.

When he subsided, Sharon gave him a dubious look, saying, "I believe that concludes our business today, Mr. Pierce."

Before she could usher Hermione out of the office, he sat down so that his eye level was equal with hers. "How vicious do you want to be to anyone that tries to take control of ATP?"

"Fatally, vindictively ruthless," Hermione replied, trotting out her advanced vocabulary.

"And even worse to anyone trying to take control of you?"

"When they die, it should feel like an indulgent blessing," Hermione said. Her expression was frighteningly eager.

Daniel's expression turned thoughtful. "I could get something for you to see at your spring break, but … if we're going to make this impenetrable and intertwined … I make a hard deadline for the end of this school year. Will that work?"

"Yes," Hermione smiled. She was finally starting to feel secure and her reaction to those threatening that was … a little extreme for civilized society.

-o-

_Hmm. Bury the important conditions in among a host of irrelevant statements and conditionals. Make each clause possibly affect the definitions or outcomes of several other clauses. Or maybe, change the order in which the alterations are applied. The bylaws for ATP can be intertwined with the bylaws for the House of Granger by making definitions and altering legal status so they carry between the two documents, and poison pill provisions for ATP can be set in the House of Granger bylaws by removing the Granger ownership …_

Daniel Pierce was in his element. Now that he had a way to keep track of each definition, conditional, and subordinate clause, he could put those damned Goblin contract writers out of business! With a Runes Master, he could make self-enforcing contracts, and with that Muggle devil-box, Peruvian darkness powder would be easier to see through.

Two weeks later, his maniacal laugh went into overdrive. There was a fabled contract, the "Death of a Thousand Cuts", that required all clauses to be initialed with a Blood Quill. Creating a contract that had identical and repeated sub-clauses was illegal for that reason, but … little Miss Granger hadn't demonstrated to him that thing's ability to evaluate logical propositions. He was going to be a legal _**GOD**_ …


	12. A Small Divergence

**12\. A Small Divergence**

As winter break ended, students were gathered up and rode the Hogwart's Express back to the castle. Hermione Granger was still sorting out her self-concept from the verbal drubbing that her guardian-and-manager had given, and was thus a trifle less bossy.

At this point, we should take a small break to discuss certain literary tropes. It is a generally accepted metaphor in literary circles that it is the flap of a butterfly's wings that can alter the course of empires and destiny because of … something-or-other. (See _Chaos: The Making of a New Science_ by James Gleick for a good layman's explanation; the scientific literature starts with **Lorenz EN. Deterministic nonperiodic flow. **_**AMSJ.**_** 1963;20:130–141.**)

Given the nature of magical society, in which all relationships are transactions and where all survivability is based upon power, it is no surprise that the _least_ cunning, ambitious, and manipulative individuals are the ones that have been Sorted into the house of Slytherin. Something along the lines of, "All you've got going for you is basic survival, and you barely have a plan for that." So in this particular case, it would be more apt to replace the metaphor of butterfly wings flapping with the twitch of a cockroach's antennae.

The train ride had ended, and much to the resigned displeasure of the staff, all the students once again converged upon "Hoggy Hoggy Hogwarts" (which song incidentally goes to show that exposure to magical phenomenon damages brain centers responsible for the perception of beauty, pattern, form, rhythm, color, and in extreme cases, causality.)

Hermione Granger was once again attending classes, but in a markedly different way. No longer was she the hand-waving swot with all the answers; she attended class, but with an indifferent attitude. When called upon, her answers were minimally complete and showed none of the enthusiasm for the previous term. All the instructors were relieved that her barrage of alternating facts and questions had ceased, though the only one who commented upon it was the stuttering DADA professor, Professor Quirrell.

"You seem to have finally left your ego behind, Miss Granger. I shall, most likely, be able to give you an Outstanding if you continue." Hermione didn't pick up on the unusual diction that Professor Quirrell was using – he almost hissed the words, in fact. She shrugged it off; she wasn't invested in grades any more. Miss Latheham's dressing-down had moved her more towards trying to understand the facts she had collected rather than simply collecting as many as possible, and class, quite frankly, cut into her studies.

-o-

The morning mail surprised Hermione this fine, freezing morning in February. Her weekly business report read, "We have been had. Madame Pince is evil, and cannot be trusted in the least. Her contract will put us out of business!"

The upshot, once the screed had been pruned of invective, was that the Hogwarts Librarian had shipped copies of 53,000 books to ATP and demanded the typeset versions immediately. The miniscule staff of ATP had been overwhelmed with the five thousand cubic feet of books, which (besides being immensely heavy) could not be adequately stored, nor protected with anything close to decent security. But … they had signed a contract. They didn't have the manpower to get all those books through the typesetting process within the next decade, and they didn't have the computers to give all those non-existent employees anything productive to do, anyway.

Hermione sighed, and pinched the bridge of her nose. She pulled out her parquet vine wood fountain pen, checked to see that the vibrant blue ink would flow, began her return instructions.

_Miss Latheham,_

_Please send the contract that details the agreement between us and the Hogwarts Library to our solicitor. Ask specifically if there are any time limits or other performance requirements specified in the contract; you may have spoken of one with Madame Pince, or she may have implied one, but if it's not in the contract, we are __**not**__ bound by it._

_If it merely implies that we have to provide our product as soon as we are able, please ship back the entire lot to Madame Pince, on her doorstep if possible, and ask her to select the 50 most urgent volumes for processing. We will provide her with the finished books as soon as we can build the business foundation for doing so, at which time she can ship the next set of 50 books to us._

_Clearly, this is the project that our new automation specialist has in front of him. While that is being done, please have the rest of the staff working on upgrading and extending the current textbooks. Indexing is rather urgent, even though it is a multi-year project. We need to upgrade the instructional sketches with color wherever possible. And we need to find out what other journals we can use for our process. _

_We are fortunate to be using the International Standard Paper sizes – we can layout everything on A4 sheets, and then expand those pages to any A, B, or C series journal we can purchase, because they all have the same proportions. Because of that, I was wondering if we can find any journals with a deckle edge and a rough tooth in the paper – in combination with an oldstyle font, that would give our products more of an "antiquarian" feel, which should go over well for family libraries and collector's editions (like the stuff for Madame Pince.) _

_If we can continue to get a deckle edge while using the page-extending charms, then we have another product line aimed at a different audience. We should continue to have the standard textbooks produced on volumes with a clean edge and a smooth, soft gloss page, as those indicate "new" to the students. I suspect that most spell collections will sell better with a newer feel._

_I haven't heard from Mr. Pierce since I came back to the castle, and I'm wondering if he has made any progress in the ATP Bylaws or that House Granger stuff. Please let me know what he says on either of those items, or the Hogwarts Library contract._

_Hermione Granger_

She was actually relieved; the Master Spell and Potion book for the Magical Guild of Craftsmen was going well enough that Sharon hadn't mentioned it. At the end of January, the Guild had collected so many spells and potions from its members that they were currently debating how to divide the contents into two volumes. They had easily decided to go with spells in one books and potions in the next, but then some idiot who just liked to stir up trouble suggested that they separate the volumes by craft, and then all hell broke loose in the Guild hall.

Which trades were to be placed together? How were they to be organized? Was there some kind of status to have your trade be in the first book? Or maybe there should be three books – knowledge for Apprentices, Journeymen, and Masters? Would Journeymen be allowed to purchase the Masters collection? Could Apprentices be allowed to read the Journeymen volume?

If she had known how, she would have cursed the lot of them.

-o-

The remainder of February and all of March passed in the same manner – chilly students in a cold castle, vaguely comprehending the knowledge that their instructors were trying to inscribe in their tiny minds. There were some that were enthusiastic, most were bent on simply enduring but one … _planned_.

Hermione wasn't that one, however. She had taken her guardian's critique to heart, and was spending time and attention attempting to _comprehend_. It wasn't an activity she was overly familiar with, and her beginning attempts led to some questions in class that precipitated embarrassing laughter, but she persevered. And a couple of months in, she was beginning to dimly see the outlines of the … well, not logic, per se, but … _connections_ that governed the magic she was learning.

And then, things got exciting again.

Professor Quirrel's body was found in his private rooms on April 21, 1992. His body was partially burned over a large area, but investigators were able to find evidence of multiple stab wounds (_many_ stab wounds) in his torso. His wand was also found at the entrance to his quarters, sliced in two.

While this death did not have the high-profile and gossip-worthy value that propelled news of Professor Snape's death around the Wizarding community, it was much more worrying to the staff of Hogwarts. While Snape was manifestly _trying_ to create enemies – and thus his death was regarded in some sense as a suicide – Professor Quirrel was an inoffensive, milquetoast man, with no known enemies. (Well, aside from elocution aficionados.) Thus, this death was regarded as evidence that the castle was either housing a cold-blooded killer with no restraints, or that the castle's defenses were able to be penetrated at will by a … cold-blooded killer with no restraints.

Dumbledore had leapt to a conclusion upon discovering the body, and had used judicious application of fire to further cover some forensic evidence he did not want revealed, namely, evidence of possession.

The staff mingled with the Aurors that were investigating this highly puzzling crime. When one of them muttered something abut the perpetrator destroying their wand at the scene, Professor McGonagall corrected him. "This is the residue of an unconstrained transfiguration reversion, young man," she said in her astringent tones.

The Auror winced. He would have preferred to never hear that tone carry the words "young man" for the remainder of his lifetime; the seven years that he spent in Hogwarts was bad enough. He felt wholeheartedly that there was no need to revisit the worst aspects of his adolescence. He especially felt that there was no need for this in front of his _boss_.

However, the information was seized upon by the forces of law and order; the perpetrator had somehow used a length of wood to inflict death upon this innocent teacher. Until, of course, Professor McGonagall had to step in and correct their thinking. Again.

"This is what happens when a transfiguration ends without being guided back into its original form," she lectured. The majority of the force inadvertently stopped talking and assumed their best I'd-better-behave-in-class personas. "So therefore, the original material for the transfiguration was wooden, but what it _became_ was a different shape and material. You can see that in how the sawdust is scattered in clumps across his chest, here."

"Yes, Professor McGonagall," the Aurors intoned as one.

Professor Dumbledore was uncharacteristically silent, refusing to accidentally hint at his contribution to the condition of the corpse. His Flameless Fire spell had nicely erased the signs of the possession that the poor boy had undergone. The signs of Voldemort's return were subtle, and Albus couldn't afford to deal with the rumors and politicking that the news would certainly engender.

As soon as the Aurors could be safely shuffled off to other pursuits, he discreetly called a lowly first year to his office for a chat.

"Mr. Potter, please tell me what you know about the death of Professor Quirrel." Dumbledore led off with his second variant of the stern-but-kindly-grandfather persona; not so friendly so as to compromise his authority, but kind enough to encourage confession.

Mr. Potter, on the other hand, was not falling for it. He shrugged. "Dunno. I was in the common room when you said that it happened." He stared Dumbledore in the eye, daring him to call his bluff.

Albus needed the trust of the boy, and their interactions so far didn't have the boy believing him to the degree he needed: Harry's bluff wasn't called. It wasn't as if the boy could really know anything, anyway, but given how every other avenue had led to nothing, Albus was reduced to believing in the improbable.

Someone, somehow, had infiltrated the most secure place in Wizarding Britain, and murdered an inoffensive DADA teacher. Yes, yes, hosting the spirit of the Dark Lord, but almost as worrying as _why_ was the question, _how?_

-o-

The new revelations about the so-called A-Team were good for the Aurors – they were closer to finding the unstoppable assassin that had now struck twice. Unfortunately, the rumors that had already begun swirling about their small community had encouraged a number of hot-heads, and they were … on to something.

In the nearly 30 weeks since the killing of Severus Snape, there had been over 25 murders where the perpetrators had destroyed their wands at the scene. While the Aurors now knew that this is not how the A-Team had operated, it was still a valid method of severing the link between the criminal and the crime.

Fortunately, the average criminal was dumber than a cobblestone; eight had been caught standing over their victims, secure in the knowledge that "nobody could prove nuffin'!" All were doing time in Azkaban, along with another 11 that had snapped their _Ollivander-issued wands_ and left the fragments along with the corpses. But the remaining six … there was a definite uptick in criminals thinking about their methods, and that wasn't good.

Amelia Bones, Chief Auror, gathered together the six, now seven files, and returned them to her cabinet. One could only hope - and pray – that the Death Eaters wouldn't pick up this new habit. It had always bothered her that the most famous death in the last two decades didn't leave a corpse …


	13. Thrust and Counter-Thrust

**13.** **Thrust and Counter-thrust**

Hermione ended her first year of Hogwarts the way she ended every year of school: slightly more educated, slightly less socialized, and completely friendless. On Friday, May 16, Hermione's weekend was delayed by a bit; she was called in to speak with her head of House directly after dinner.

Accordingly, Miss Granger was sitting on the floor outside the Transfiguration Professor's office when that Professor came striding down the hall. "Ah, Miss Granger, yes …"

Hermione was ushered into the office, and Prof. McGonagall took her place behind the desk, pulling a sheaf of mixed parchment and paper from a desk drawer. "Miss Granger, I have received a great deal of correspondence on your behalf this week, and I find that I am at a loss to answer any of it. Are you familiar with the concept of guardianship?"

Hermione struggled to change her smirk into a smile. "I have had some problems with my parents and the Wizarding world, so I took steps to have a magical guardian appointed so that my parents couldn't get into trouble."

Prof. McGonagall looked over the top of her glasses at the student. "What, pray tell, could your parents possible do to cause trouble in the Wizarding world?"

"They wanted to take gold galleons from Gringott's, melt them down, and sell the gold."

Shocked silence.

Finally, the professor murmured, "You did well, child." She rallied, "So how did you choose your magical guardian? They didn't appoint themselves, did they?" Hermione was surprised to hear something akin to actual caring in her teacher's voice.

"Well, in a way, she did. Miss Latheham told me of the danger that I was in, and told me that I needed a magical guardian before I began the term at Hogwarts. Since Miss Latheham is my employee and bound to…"

"Excuse me," interrupted Prof. McGonagall, "Miss Latheham is your _employee_?"

"Yes, I own Ancient Traditions Publishing, and she works for me as the general manager." Hermione worked to act as if owning a company which made _books_ was of little concern.

The teacher had narrowed brows and pursed lips. "I see." She brought Hermione's attention back to the stack of correspondence. "I have received a number of letters inquiring as to your guardianship, and as to your legal and blood status. I am beginning to understand what brought on this rush of inquiries."

Hermione waved her hand. "Just forward them all to Miss Latheham. She will be able to d-" Hermione almost said delay them, but that would be quite a bit too honest an approach "-deal with them, and we will decide if any of the letters qualify as an exception to our general approach."

Gently, Prof. McGonagall probed, "And what _is_ your general approach?"

Hermione nonchalantly said, "I don't need a husband right now," accompanied with massive eye-rolling, "and I don't want to sell the business. Any other inquiries go to our secretary and they get our catalog of finished books."

Professor McGonagall nodded firmly. She was evidently in favor of Hermione's simple policy of avoiding adult matters. But she sat forward in her chair to ask, "So how did you end up with a publishing company?"

Hermione was happy to expound upon _that_! "Well about two years ago, there was a development in the Muggle world that made it possible for just about anyone to act as an editor, but it's still very difficult to put a finished manuscript into a bound format. But when I saw the state of our textbooks, I realized that this was something that I could do, and that was really needed. So I looked for spells that would take care of the part that Muggle technology couldn't do, and I wrote to all of the Professors here for support, and when you all told me that this was a good idea, I went ahead and made a company."

Hermione paused a bit, for breath, and to organize her thoughts. She definitely didn't want to reveal that she had access to all of the Hogwarts Library restricted section, including the _real_ restricted collection, for instance! She went on, "So I found someone that would take a vow to work for me, and Miss Latheham found Lacy Screven to do the art, and they're working to get all the books updated and ready every year. I'm trying to get the books indexed, but it turns out that's _really_ hard, so even though we've got a Table of Contents in each textbook, we still have a long way to go."

The Deputy Headmistress could easily tell this was a passion project for the girl. She quietly asked, "And do you have any other improvements in mind?"

Hermione had begun gesturing along with her stream-of-consciousness coming forth, and she began again. "I'm supposed to be happy with just getting all the textbooks reproduced, but there are just so many things we could do – for instance, the potions books could really stand to be cross referenced for each potion, with preparation directions, ingredient warnings, things like that. And maybe some emergency healing spells, in case of an exploding cauldron or something. But magical history could use a complete re-write, and the Muggle Studies texts are about a hundred years out of date, so that could use some attention …"

Their conversation went on for most of an hour, greatly entertaining the teacher. She felt that Miss Granger was adequately looked after, and that Miss Latheham was serving as the necessary brakes that the young girl needed.

-o-

After dropping her off at her home, Miss Latheham revealed that Miss Hermione had an appointment with Mr. Pierce the next day, after which, they would attend to the voluminous correspondence that had been delayed by waiting for the end of school. Hermione could barely sleep, she was so keyed up with anticipation. But eventually, the night passed.

Hermione was nervously pacing from the back door to the front to the back again, Wizarding robes whirling as she turned. She was too keyed up to even read! Clearly, her life was out of control and could never be allowed to get this unchecked ever again!

Hermione was about two minutes away from a full-onset panic attack when Sharon appeared with a loud pop in Hermione's vestibule. "Ready?" Hermione nodded, Sharon took her arm, and they both disapperated.

Appearing in the entry area of their lawyer's office, they were immediately greeted by Mr. Pierce himself. "Ah, there you are, there you are! I have outdone myself with this, and you will have to see! Come along! Come!" He led the way back to an office meeting room.

Hermione looked at the secretary who shrugged. "He's been like this for a fortnight. He warded everyone out of the back upper storage room, and has been going on and on about 'interlaced conditional statements', or some such. You'd better follow him. If you don't he'll just come back and find you." She turned back to her magazine.

Hermione and Sharon both followed Mr. Pierce to the meeting room, where there were two tall stacks of paper. Daniel Pierce gestured grandly at the stacks and trilled, "Ta DAH! One set of bylaws for House Granger, annotated and thoroughly incomprehensible, and one set of bylaws for ATP, complete with a poison pill to keep ownership in the present hands. Take a look!"

Hermione hesitantly approached the House Granger bylaws, a full seven inches high in neat stack of 3 ring binders, each one inch thick. She picked up the top volume ("_House Granger Bylaws, Membership and Succession, Volume 1 of 7_") and opened for a quick read.

_When a member of House Granger is in arrears to the House for dues of vassalage, the fief of the member reverts to the House until and unless the member remits the amount in arrears, in addition to an amount not to be in excess of seven years income for the member, unless the following exceptions apply: 1) that the member is impressed for service in government or House service, or 2) that the member is acting as a vassal direct for House Granger or the Head of House Granger, or 3) vassalage was contracted under the conditions enumerated in section 5 of book 4 … _

Her head spun. She thumbed through the volume – the entire thing was dense with legal terms, sentences that ran on for inches on the page, references to other volumes, conditional references, conditional titles, conditional payments … the whole thing was an exercise in if-then run amuck.

It was … perfect.

"So how do I understand this?"

The solicitor had finally rested, sitting upon his chair at the end of the table. "That … might take a little effort, Miss Granger."

"Hermione," she insisted.

"Hermione," he repeated. "You gave me a lead on the spreadsheet software, but after a few tries with the Apple spreadsheets, I ran into a problem, that I solved by moving to an IBM machine. I needed the ability to run tens of thousands of cells at one time, and the Apple software just didn't have the punch. I found a spreadsheet program that only runs on a PC called Boeing Calc, and it will let me have over four _billion_ cells in a spreadsheet. It's slower than a Streeler Snail, but it gets the job done.

"So first, you'll need to get a PC in your office. Then we'll get the software you need, and then we can copy over the spreadsheet. While the options are … huge, you can play with them to see what the bylaws will let you do to your attackers. With all the individual components, I can guarantee that even the most accomplished solicitors of any race will not be able to unravel this mess to understand it."

"And for ATP?" Sharon's question jarred Mr. Pierce out of his trance.

"ATP will be able to function just as you want it, and you can withdraw any amount from its account. If you can attest that it's for business related purposes, then you don't have to declare that amount as profit, and it will reduce what you have to pay out to Zithrick. If you just need the money, you have to be able to pay the same amount to Zithrick and his investment consortium. If anyone tries to wrest ownership from you, they die, and if someone ever manages, then ATP becomes an autonomous worker's collective where every individual has one vote, regardless of how many shares of stock they own."

"Good," reported Sharon, "because Hermione is getting pressured to sign a marriage contract guaranteeing marriage when she reaches the age of 17, and transferring ownership of ATP to the family of the groom."

"Ah, that's one I want to see," chortled Mr. Pierce. He rubbed his hands together in enthusiasm. "I think that triggers the loss of magic – and the transfer of vault contents – for every member of that House that has jurisdiction over the groom. We could possibly squib four men, and make off with the vault contents of the House, as well as the private vaults for each leader in each generation."

He turned to Hermione. "If you'd rather turn the entire House into giraffes or something, we can make a few tweaks before you register the bylaws with the Ministry."

She was taken aback and stumbled, "No, I think that this will work just fine." A though occurred to her; "What will the Ministry know about the House when they trigger the penalties? I mean, will they know that they did it to themselves, or will they blame me?"

"Oh, no. I'm going to take responsibility for this very loudly, there's no way they'll miss it. This is the best advertisement for my law practice I could possibly get!" Daniel Pierce was not about to let his triumph go unremarked, less unheralded among the Magical community.

"Ok, then," nodded Hermione. "Let's get this registered. Um, Sharon?"

"Yes?"

"Which family pressuring me would be the richest that people wouldn't be watching? I mean, could we get two or maybe three families to sign before word gets out?"

The laugh that came out of Mr. Pierce's mouth was evil, and frightening. The only thing that kept it from featuring in Hermione's nightmares was that it was on her behalf.

-o-

Ancient Traditions Publishing was applying a Muggle remedy to their Wizarding problem – the problem of too much work to do. To anyone remotely familiar with the Industrial Revolution, there was an obvious way to handle that, to wit; automation. They needed to find a way to automate typing a handwritten (okay, dictated-to-quill) book into the computer, preferably with a basic recognition of textual context (being able to tag a phrase as being a chapter title, for instance.)

Hermione knew she wasn't the one to figure that out. Sharon shuddered at the thought that she might have to deal with it. Lacy was completely unsuited (and knew it), while Brenda, who might have been tasked with the problem, pointed out that the solution would also have hardware and magical dimensions, so it shouldn't be her if they valued their office equipment.

The employment search turned up a number of odd characters in the Wizarding world (as it was oversupplied with them), but the one that stood out to Sharon was a middle-aged man named Leland Mannering-Phipps.

As he told it, "I fell out with my family for two reasons – because I have magic, and because I don't want to be useless." He exhibited an intensely practical streak in the initial interview, asking about such items as the real-world separation distance between a computer and active spells. Sharon's confession of complete ignorance merely elicited a small smile, and a murmured, "We'll have to find that out, then," which was quite reassuring to the manager. His previous experience as a spell developer was a further indication that he was the person they wanted to hire.

Leland had quickly run some small experiments, and developed a system: the spell "reading" the book would shoot spells at a keyboard about 35 feet away – fortunately, he was able to eliminate the delays so that it sped up to over 300 characters per minute. The context tagging was less successful, so Sharon had reluctantly realized that some actual attention needed to be paid to these manuscripts before they could be printed out into a book.

_Unless_ the book had no illustrations and no divisions other than chapters – which was the norm for books created in the Wizarding World before 1750 or so. Even those produced after that time were usually quite simple in layout and even simpler to mark up, as long as one ignored indexing – which made Hermione grit her teeth and bite her tongue to keep silent.

Under Leland's approach, ATP was able to enter six-or-so books every day, which necessitated a large storage solution, so they purchased the new Seagate drive that could store 2 GB – or what Hermione figured was the equivalent of 500 books. Given that they had over 100 times that many books to process … this was only a stopgap measure. But it would do for now.

The attempt to introduce deckle edges for books had hit a wall until Leland's arrival, too. The deckle edges were not reproduced when the spell filled out the journal to the number of pages needed, leading to an unacceptable appearance; the journals that had enough pages actually had too many, which led to another unacceptable result. Leland had tweaked the spell so that all pages had the same appearance, depending on the cut from the original pages, so they were able to move forward with those volumes.

Hermione directed that a book of charms be found as an example volume (Sharon arranged to collect the spells published in Teen Witch Weekly), and those were developed as a nice looking modern book, and shown in both straight edge and deckle edge editions. With these in the window of their shop, and Leland's automated entry system, they were ready to accept original manuscripts for new publishing.

Brenda and Lacy had collaborated on a new layout, with fonts and embellishments to match, so ATP commissioned new books from the would-be authors that had flocked to their banner: household finances, cooking, household spells, mending, healing, potions, and such. The five volume set were available in clean edged editions with the standard layout, but in a much more decorative set using the artistic layout, and that was marketed as "The Bride's Library."

This went on sale just as the Hogwart's Express pulled out of King's Cross that autumn, and Hermione hoped that it would cover some of the expenses that the Hogwart's Library had forced them to incur. On the train, she was also amused at the gossip that was floating among the children of traditional families: there was another House about to recognized by the Wizengamot, and it was going to … do _something_ to the existing power alignment.

Hermione hoped so. It wouldn't do to go to such an effort and not be able to end up with no power at all. She smiled a little more as she realized that the next day would be Sharon's first opportunity to dangle the Head of House Granger as a bride to any of those crusty old bast – um, opportunists. She settled back into her seat with her book. Perhaps she would be able to make a profit on _this_, too.

A/N: fixed typos 4-9-2020


	14. Communication Errors

**14\. Communication Errors**

Sharon glanced at her watch – Hogwarts express left a few minutes ago, so Hermione was now under the protection of Hogwarts … and their policy of strict neutrality in House affairs. _Go time_. She pulled the "marriage offers" toward her for one last review, but as the last fourteen times she did that, nothing had changed. Each was an "offer" of House protection that in reality demanded complete obedience and submission in return for continued life. There were seven offers, but they all seemed to come from the same political powerbloc – which the Nott family controlled. They didn't make an offer.

The Flint family did, however, and they were also the ones that pulled the string at Flourish & Blott's. That made choosing their offer quite reasonable, and a satisfying revenge, and it also failed to show House Granger's understanding of the political alignments. Well, Sharon's actually, but … same thing.

The bonus for Sharon was that the Flint family had been rather horrid (and threatening) to her during her educational years, and they had five males in succession from the head of house to the named groom – so all their personal vaults were in line to be looted, too – and that was where Sharon thought that the real payoff would be.

Sharon began a first draft on a sheet of paper. _House Granger is in receipt of your betrothal offer, and desires to accept. Please note that the Bylaws of House Granger require the signed acceptance of all individuals in the line of succession from the Head of the House tendering the betrothal contract through the individual that will be joined with House Granger …_

-o-

On the train, Hermione was looking through some of her schoolbooks for the first time; the forcible enlightenment of the previous summer had severely impacted her tendency to gather all information possible. In particular, her Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks were completely untouched, as she had been focusing on charms and runes during the summer months. That and business management. She wasn't going to tell Sharon, but the business was completely beyond her grasp as a soon-to-be thirteen year old, and she was barely able to understand what the decisions she was asked for were about.

Opening her first book by G. Lockhart, Hermione was struck by … a feeling of oddness. Frowning, she closed the book and opened her charms textbook (a new second edition with corrections and improved chapter summaries.) The feeling went away. She opened the DADA book alongside the Charms textbook, and the feeling definitely came whenever she was paying attention to the Lockhart book.

_What is going on? The book _**I**_ published is laid out well, but the Lockhart book is … waitaminute!_

Hermione pulled the DADA book closer to her face. _The letters weren't printed – they were drawn! This one looked like Caslon, but that 'g' looked like Garamond. And_ … she riffled through the pages … _that's IT! The odd numbers are on the left side!_

Hermione sat back, closing the book. How did she miss this? The Lockhart books weren't printed – ATP had the only book printing operation in the magical world. The DADA books were drawn to resemble printed letters, but the person behind them, this Lockhart fellow, had drawn each of the letters, but couldn't maintain consistency with style or spacing. _The kerning was off, the baseline was uneven … how did I not see this immediately!_

_He's a fraud!_ To Hermione, this was a major sin – the kind that required the invention of new circles in Hell and the creation of infamous new tortures for eternity. To produce a book where even the _printing_ was fraudulent … her eyes narrowed, and she began fuming. Her anger and indignation would increase over time.

She had a six hour train ride all on her own.

-o-

The Sorting that year had a completely forgettable song; commenters agreed that this was definitely an off year for the Hat, nearly rivalling the Sorting of 1522, which had a song so boring, nobody could remember what it was, even after they read the transcript. The firsties were shepherded to their assigned locations, and nobody wondered if the Hat's lack of creativity meant anything about the accuracy of its assignments (just as well, as there really wasn't any standard to measure them.)

And through it all, there was a bushy haired young witch that was glaring at the grinning blond ponce sitting with the staff. While the man was quite obviously besotted with himself, he did eventually notice the attempt to vaporize him with her gaze; and while this was _unlikely_ to happen, the magical world made this kind of thing much more probable than otherwise.

The self-absorbed twit (with admittedly fantastic hair) was eventually introduced as this year's DADA instructor, which had a most unusual effect on the young harridan – she redoubled her efforts to vaporize his head with her nasty expression.

The newest professor at Hogwarts mentally shrugged; while he couldn't charm them all (even though he certainly tried), he knew that a few tips on hair care would turn her into a fan.

How could it not?

-o-

The first DADA class for second years hit quickly, on September 2nd. Professor and professional gadabout Lockheart was at the door to his classroom to welcome all his young acolytes with his award-winning smile. It slipped as the first witch approached him. "I read all your books," she announced. It was the frightful one from the Welcome Feast.

She leaned up to him and hissed, "Every page is a lie! I know it _all!_ YOU ARE A FRAUD!" And she stomped into his classroom and took up malevolent station in the center of the front row.

Gilderoy Lockheart struggled to compose himself – he couldn't possibly let his soon-to-be-adoring fans see him so out of control. But this … this … termagant was threatening to uncover all his secrets, take away all his fame, destroy all his prizes! _I can't let her see that I'm affected._ He straightened up, leaned to one side in a pose that he knew made him look approachable yet formidable, and sauntered into the classroom.

There were many things Gilderoy Lockheart was going to do in the pursuit of fame, and this was going to be the time he discovered what they were. Apparently, teaching a class was one of them.

-o-

September fourteenth was a welcome respite for Hermione Granger – maintaining her ferocious glare at Professor Lockheart really took it out of a young girl. But what could he expect? He faked a book! Seven times over, in fact!

She shook her head. Today, her "betrothed" and his family were coming to Hogwarts to finalize the contract. She smirked – the chances of this going badly for her really were very slim. Well, last summer's induction into the Wizengamot really was the only warning they were going to get.

"_Miss Granger, are you aware of just what these proposed House Bylaws can do?" The elderly Wizengamot member peered down at her. Well, his seat was in the raised area for hereditary families, so it was a little less condescending than it could have been. Hermione resented it just the same, but concealed her irritation._

"_Of course, my Lord," she smiled. "The House bylaws state what is permissible behavior for members of my House, what is not permissible behavior, and how members of my House may make oaths, allegiance, bonds, or contracts."_

_Several Lords looked at the table where the seven books of the House Granger bylaws were displayed. "We have studied your proposed bylaws extensively, and cannot see how you could make head or tail out this mess."_

_Hermione tried to display a pretty smile (and succeeded, mostly.) "I believe that it is not the place of outsiders to pass judgement on another House's internal affairs. What you need to do is verify that House Granger does, in fact, have bylaws."_

_They shook their heads at the impertinent and irritating little girl, but proceeded to approve the formation of House Granger. Clearly, they had been prodded into making this quick acceptance by the Nott family, as the Nott alliance had led the voting in favour. The Granger bylaws had proved their effectiveness when, after the votes were tallied … nothing happened._

_Hermione quickly led the Chief Warlock in the proper ritual for ratifying the bylaws (left hand on book 1, standing on left foot, right hand raised holding the gavel, and saying three times, "Humma, humma, humma!") – and the bylaws had flashed with a magical acceptance. _

If the hidden procedures for Granger House didn't clue them in that there was something they didn't understand, there was no hope for them. And that was the precise attitude Hermione had for the Flint clan.

She made her way to the front doors of the castle, and only had to wait five minutes or so for Sharon Latheham to arrive in the company of Daniel Pierce. In a group slightly behind them were five men in a line, all wearing formal robes in stark black with emerald green piping. The one in front (who seemed quite old) also had an ornate emblem on his left breast – after some study, Hermione could see that it was an incredibly embellished "F". Probably the Head.

Mr. Pierce led the groups to a room on the first floor that had evidently been set aside for their use. The solicitor placed his briefcase on the table and from it, withdrew an ornate filigreed ball on a stand. "Please witness all, that I am not dispelling or interfering with any magic already within this room. This security device will extend an anti-listening charm to within 1 inch of the walls and within one inch of the furniture, allowing any listening charms to function, but report nothing. Please confine all speech to the area above the table and away from the walls. Are there any objections?"

All those involved shook their heads. Everyone knew Dumbledore was not to be trusted with family secrets, and this procedure would reveal some.

"Very well." Daniel tapped the filigree on the ball in a precise pattern. "Now, before we begin, are there any items that need to be made public?"

Hermione decided at that moment to keep her peace. The rest of the room all shook their heads in the negative.

"Very well. Miss Granger, please sign the betrothal contract on page one as the intended bride," she signed sans middle name, "and on page 5 as the Head of House," she signed with her middle name this time, as the Flint males (all large with unpleasant expressions) universally smirked.

"Miss Latheham, please sign on page 5 confirming the House Granger signature?"

"Gentlemen of House Flint, you will all need to sign on page 5, and Marcus, you will also need to sign on page one as the intended groom."

"Thank you … and now I sign as witness and officer of the court." After doing so, Daniel Pierce placed his left hand flat on the contract, and tapped his wand on the pile of parchment sheets. A slow glow formed, growing until it enveloped all the signatories, and then abruptly vanished. A new sheet of parchment slid out of the stack, with signatures magically transferred to the bottom.

The Flint men all cried out. "Hey!", "What's goin' on!", and similar expressions. The intended groom had his hands out in front of him groping in the air, indicating that he couldn't see. The frantic turning of this father's head, and his great-grandfather's, showed that he wasn't the only one.

Hermione spoke up so that they could all hear her. "I could tell that you would go through with this, so I decided not to warn you; if I had given you three warnings and you still tried to take control of House Granger, you would all be dead. As it is, I left you your lives – taking only your vaults and your magic."

The reaction was much stronger this time, requiring the intervention of Mr. Pierce. His wand was out, with a slight glow at the tip, pointing at the Flints. "The results of trying to take ownership of Ancient Traditions Publishing and of House Granger are all detailed in the bylaws that you _said_ you had read. Oh, and your sight will return – it's just that you are now Muggles, and the Hogwarts wards prevent Muggles from seeing magical places."

He plucked the separate sheet off the table, and handed it to Sharon. "Please see that this gets to Gringott's immediately." She took the parchment and headed out the door.

"Hermione, there may be some properties attached to their vaults in their personal possession. Do you have any initial thoughts about how you want to handle them?"

Hermione had prepared. "I will sell back the properties to the residents for one sickle, and a contract of allegiance." Mr. Pierce looked at her sharply. "I don't need the land."

_I __**do**__ need the allies_, was unsaid. The property sales went quickly, and gained House Granger its first supporters.

-o-

On Halloween of that year, the feast was interrupted by a prefect, announcing that there was a disturbance in a first floor hallway. Hermione wasn't one to join the mindless crowds – that was far too plebian for her. To keep up on the events, she listened in to the gossip in the common room that night, and found that the caretaker's murderous feline companion had been petrified. Accompanying the, well, not corpse, was an announcement in blood on the wall, "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware."

Well, _that_ spoke of a desperate need for attention. Hermione turned her attention back to her ATP work, checking out the EverythingBook that had been shipped to her the week before. It held a copy of all the books that ATP published, and was updated every month, so that it continued to be current even after the customer left the store … which was the problem. How should they continue to be paid for this continual update?

Hermione was also concerned that the enchantments were not as stable as they needed to be. Books were only half included, and it was a lucky book that was only cut off part-way through – the worst were books that only revealed the left two inches of a page. _Definitely not ready for production._

Around her, the Gryffindor common room was a swirling mess of chatter, completely passing by the frizzy-haired girl who was completely absorbed in her book.

She wasn't unnoticed.

-o-

Three days after the petrification of Mrs. Norris ("Is Norris her married name? Where might Mr. Norris be? How did Mr. Filch determine that his cat was a proper married feline and not an easy chavette?" – Hermione had many questions,) she was accosted by two classmates.

The two boys dropped into the chairs on the other side of her study table. "Miss Granger, might we bother you?"

She looked up from her book. "Mr. Longbottom, Mr. Potter. What can I do for you?"

Potter spoke up. "We were hoping that you might have something you need done."

_Well, that's not suspicious_. "Why?"

Longbottom answered. "Because we need a favor from you, and we don't want to get it for free."

This made her feel better. Fair, at least. "I'm not sure. What do you need?"

The two boys exchanged a glance – they probably didn't realize that they did it – and Longbottom said, "We need to know how to fight. Not spells and stuff – we need to know how to choose when to fight, stuff like that."

"You mean, strategy and tactics?" she clarified.

Potter shrugged, "I guess so. Where would we go to learn stuff like that?"

Hermione considered. She looked at the two of them; they weren't making fun of her, and they were never the ones that bothered her, either in or out of class. She glanced down at her book … and had a small inspiration. "I can get you books on it – there are three that I know of – and in return, you will help me work on my book for the shop."

The two boys looked down at her book. It was, to the naked eye, exactly like all the other books that ATP had put out: A5 size, fabric cover, about three-quarters of an inch thick. It didn't _look_ too difficult.

"Just what do we need to do?"

Hermione smiled. It wasn't that threatening …

-o-

_Sharon, I need two EverythingBooks produced, with the corrections I've enclosed. One is to be A5, identical to the standard school issue textbooks. The second is to be A4, with the same layout as the OWL and NEWT study editions. On these two books only, they also need to have three books added to our catalogue: _On War_, _The Book of Five Rings_, and _The Art of War_. Please send them in five days or less._

-o-

In late November, the Weasley boys were gathered out of classes and sent home for a week. Castle rumors abounded about how their youngest, a firstie named Ginny, had been found dead on the first floor. She had apparently been fighting a giant snake and had torn it up in a pyrrhic victory, insuring that Slytherin's Monster was defeated. Nobody mentioned the slight traces of sawdust that were scattered around the site, nor that the snake had been chewing on a black diary as it died.

When the Weasley boys returned, they were downcast and abnormally serious. Even Ronald's legendary appetite was affected. The twins didn't perk up until after the winter break, when they were taken aside by Harry Potter.

When Potter returned to the Gryffindor common room, Hermione overheard him talking to Longbottom. "They're going to write down their instructions. We should be able to make our own spells if we're careful."

Her eyes narrowed. She _wanted_ those instructions. Quick-and-dirty spell crafting for pre-OWLS? She smelled another book!

-o-

The Headmaster was worried. The signs of transfiguration were everywhere, and now there was a student dead. It was a Weasley, so the family could afford to lose one, or even a few, but … there was a killer out there.

An assassin that Albus wasn't controlling. He had no _information_, dam – um, darn it! He had no idea what this ruthless and amoral master of transfiguration was doing, why, or even how. There was an executioner out there …

… or maybe … in here?


	15. The Fruits of Our Labours

**15\. The Fruits of our Labours**

After being picked up from King's Cross Station, Hermione was comfortably ensconced in her father's Range Rover, trying to keep her temper under control. It seemed that her parents were still having financial difficulties, and they had seized upon a solution that was very unpalatable for Hermione.

"Yes, father, I have been making a profit with my business. But that business cannot support you."

"Yes, it can! We are going to that magic bank right now. You will withdraw, um …"

Hermione's mother (somehow lucid at this time of day) broke in with, "One hundred thousand pounds will take us through the summer vacation season nicely."

Hermione may have been out of her depth with the daily ATP business decisions, but she had no problems decoding what was going on here. "You are going to steal the money that will keep my business going – not to pay off your debts and to give you a sound financial base, but to vacation?" Hermione's voice did not rise, and was quite firm. If her parents were less self-absorbed, they would have noticed that they were now in a very dangerous situation. But if they were less self-absorbed, the situation would never have developed this far; in all respects, Hermione considered that they were going to receive what they had given.

"We can't possibly be seen to have skipped the _BVI_, child," said Mr. Dr. "The Kendalters skipped going to Bora Bora that year, remember, dear? and their dinner parties became so dreadfully dull when people stopped going."

Hermione fumed. Abruptly, she said, "Give me your cell, _mother_." She knew the number by heart, and this was what that arrangement was for, right? Her mother failed to hand over the cell, but Hermione kept her hand out. "Entrance to the Wizarding world requires an act of magic, and I am not allowed to do magic out of school. I need to call a magical adult that will allow us to enter the area with the bank. Or are you going to give up your plans to rob me blind, _mother_?"

Eyeing Hermione sideways, Emma fished her phone from her purse and handed it over. Hermione typed in the phone number and waited for it to be answered.

"Sharon, I've got some issues with my parents. Please meet us at the Leaky Cauldron with the vault key for ATP and a summary of our books. … As soon as possible, okay? Thanks."

Hermione handed the phone back to her mother. "I'm underage in the magical world, so I found someone that would act as my guardian there. She will explain everything to you and will do the magic so that we can see Diagon Alley." _And she will tell you that you can't take my money or my company._

When they finally were able to park outside of the Leaky, Hermione led them inside, her steps resembling an implacable march. She had grasped their hands momentarily, so they could see the pub, but dropped them as soon as they crossed the threshold. Sharon was waiting for them at a table, and she beckoned them over.

"I'm assuming that the purpose of your visit is to withdraw some funds?" she said, and laid two pages on the table. "I have this month's summary of our cash flow."

Mr. Dr. Granger stepped forward and took the sheets. "Yes, it is. Our daughter has not done well by us, and we are here to rectify the situation."

Sharon hesitated a moment, but carried on without a mis-step. "Very well." Hermione's mouth gaped open at this betrayal. "You need to understand that the terms of our loan with the goblin cartel is quite strict; any funds withdrawn are classified as profit, and an equal amount must then be withdrawn and remitted to the cartel. This payment does not go towards the repayment of the loan principal, but is simply the profit the goblins will see from the loan." Hermione's mouth remained open, and her eyes narrowed a tiny bit.

Mrs. Dr. M. Emma Granger was quite lost, but her husband was thinking this through. "Is there no interest rate for the loan?"

"No, the goblins negotiated one half of all profit and a fifty percent ownership stake in the company until the loan amount is repaid, and the loan must be repaid in full with one payment." Sharon stopped her explanation there.

Mr. Dr. W. Daniel Granger was able to follow through, though. "So the goblins get half of all money withdrawn, and you have to withdraw the loan payment all at once … which means that they will get a minimum of double their money back." He whistled. "Clever."

Sharon smiled. Hermione could tell it wasn't one of her real ones. "Quite. But for today, it means that you can only expect to withdraw half of the funds not already allocated to future expenses. That would be …" she checked the printout. "… a bit under seven thousand Galleons for your use at this time."

The Mrs. Dr. was able to catch the critical number. "That's just a third of what we need! I demand that you withdraw twenty thousand Galleons! We can't possibly make it through the summer on just seven!"

Sharon's smile became a thin line with her lips pressed together. "Excuse me," she murmured, and produced her wand. After a casual wave and three seconds of whispering, she put it away again. "Privacy spell; I didn't expect this conversation to become heated." She focused her attention back on the dentists. "What you are demanding is not possible. The funds in our vault are barely over that amount, and the company requires money to pay for materials, rent, and work force. If I were to authorize you to strip our vault bare, the company would be insolvent by this Friday's payroll."

The incomprehension of the muggle adults was palpable – they couldn't understand why that would matter at all.

Sharon swallowed her sigh and went on, "I am, in addition to the magical guardian of your daughter, an oath-bound company officer of ATP. You can access the coffers of ATP because of that, but I cannot legally let you take an amount that would harm the company. Were I not employed by ATP, I wouldn't be able to stop you, but you wouldn't have access to the funds in the first place." She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. "You can receive the equivalent of 6,798 Galleons – um, £33,990 – but that is the maximum you have available. There is no credit or overdraft protection that will allow you to receive more than is physically available."

Hermione's father began grasping at straws. "Then we'll just take the amount in Galleons, thanks."

Sharon was too canny for that. "As non-magical people, you are legally prohibited from owning Galleons. Hermione and I are only allowed Galleons for purchase within the recognized boundaries of the magical world. Attempting to use Galleons for any other purpose will see the offender quickly executed by a goblin enforcer. I will change the amount into Pounds Sterling, and you will live to draw breath for another hour."

Mr. Dr. gave a short nod, and Sharon got up and left the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione fold her arms in a very defiant gesture, and fumed silently while they waited for Sharon's return from the bank. After an uncomfortable silent wait of about 30 seconds, both Hermione's parents went to the bar to inquire about libations that would help them pass the time, and were quite involved in the choosing of a drink to dull their senses.

After a time (both adults were on their second drink), Sharon returned. She slid a sheet of paper over to Hermione's father. "I was able to increase your exchange rate by taking advantage of a new service that Gringott's offers. By accepting a cashier's check drawn on Barclays, I was able to negotiate a reduction in fees that gives you a total of £35,000."

Mrs. Dr. snatched the check from the table and peered at it intently. "Not enough, but it's a start," she murmured.

Sharon ignored her rudeness and comment. "If you desire to withdraw profits from ATP in the future, you should understand that our big sales season ends on September 1, so profit will not be calculated until September 4th at the earliest."

Both Dr. Grangers nodded and stood. Mr. Dr. said, "Thank you. You have been," he hesitated and threw a dark look at his daughter, "reasonable. Until next time," and they left the Leaky Cauldron to return to their car.

With the departure of her parents, Hermione felt free to unleash her fury. "How could you _do_ that? That money is **mine**!"

Sharon had a brief expression of annoyance cross her face, but she answered in a calm and firm tone. "Under both magical and non-magical law, your parents have ownership of all assets you think of as yours. If they press it, the ownership of ATP goes to them as well, and none of your contract safeguards would help you. Your parents were easily diverted. _This_ time. Your anger doesn't actually help you achieve your goals, and it won't protect you. Get it under control, Missy." That last word was invective, clearly – even though Sharon's tone didn't mark it as such.

Hermione sat back in her seat at the Leaky Cauldron, feeling for all the world as if she'd been slapped – as she had, verbally. More calmly, she said, "I noticed that you talked about the Goblin loan as if it were still owed."

"Yes, and because I could reference that, you have 6,700 Galleons in the ATP vault that you otherwise would not."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. Apparently, having someone on your side did not mean that they were your friend.

Or very nice.

This was confusing.

-o-

Hermione's parents found that one-third of their desired funding was enough to imply to their social circle that their wealth was intact. They begged off from the entire stay at the resort by implying that they had important patients that simply _must_ be seen – and as their entire coterie was as obsessed with fame and self-promotion as the Grangers, this was viewed as an acceptable reason for cutting short their season in the sun.

Hermione, herself, was very difficult to deal with that summer. Her hostility towards her parents was higher than at any previous time, and had a concrete basis; her disgust at their very presence was quite evident and she had no intention of ever letting it decrease in the slightest.

The adult Grangers, for their part, were not about to apologies for using resources within their control for their own benefit. It never occurred to them that a steady stream of income from the magical world would be possible, nor did they comprehend the possibility of cultivating Hermione as a partner in their social aspirations; given their individual levels of egotism, they were doing well to include each other in their plans.

The summer passed in an unrelenting series of antagonistic encounters, and both sides were relieved when September 1 arrived. The young Lady Granger was delivered to King's Cross Station by her parents, and as they parted a mutual sigh of relief was had by all.

Hermione had, at Sharon's direction, borrowed her mother's phone to notify Sharon that her assistance entering the magical world would not be needed, and then surreptitiously removed all logs with Sharon's phone number. The house phone had already been … sanitized. As Hermione was still nursing a grudge, the rationale for these directions were not provided, but Hermione had a sneaking sense that these actions were setting her parents up for some payback, so didn't murmur.

On the Hogwart's Express, there were a few puzzled glances at her. She had thoroughly destroyed the Flint family, relieving them of their House treasury (the Lord Flint had kept it in his vault so as to be more fully under his control.) On the other hand, she had granted that they retain their House seat and properties, which gave them substantial income, and security for the future, requiring only that they agree to an alliance.

The absence of scorched-earth tactics signaled that this new House was weak and soft-hearted; few expected it to last a decade. So why was she flaunting her identity with her crest on her robes? Even the _Malfoy_ _heir_ thought that was crass. He merely sniffed and ignored the mudblood; opinions were to be freely expressed in private only.

-o-

The sorting that year was a bit smaller than she expected. Sharon had implied that the Hogwarts selection brought in exactly 40 children each year; the children of the leaders and governors of the Wizarding World, rounding it out with the children of famous, finished with a sprinkling of muggleborn for a token attempt at egalitarianism.

But this year, there were 31 children being sorted into the Hogwarts houses. What happened to the other nine? Hermione made a mental note to ask ATP about their sales and profits.

-o-

That night, Hermione was faced with … torture. Faye, Lavender, Padma, and Sally were gathered for a dorm discussion, and Hermione wasn't about to be excluded – regardless of her intense desire to be somewhere _else_. **Anywhere** else.

"So, Hermione – who do you like?"

It was Lavender that asked, but all of her roommates were eager to hear her answer, and the calculation in those eyes showed that the question wasn't an idle one.

Hermione blanked; her opinions regarding boys hadn't progressed beyond a private understanding that her feelings would change sometime in the near future.

It turned out that in addition to elective classes, the third years also had another rite of passage; the girls dorms divvied up the available male population for future conquest. As Hermione was the highest ranking girl in her dorm, she was given the right to first choice (one boy only, however.)

The reason for this completely escaped her, and the other girls set her straight. The Wizarding world was small – less than a decent sized city in the Muggle world, and the young men acceptable for a future match were in smaller supply still. There followed a long night of assessing the economic and relationship potential of every young man in the castle, with particular emphasis on his manners, suitability for fatherhood, and likelihood of being wealthy.

In their year, Ronald Weasley scored lowest overall (and in most categories as well), with Neville Longbottom nearly coming out on top for most measures (but since he was also judged as quite unexciting, he was unceremoniously handed over to Hermione for 'ownership'; she felt slightly intrigued and somewhat repelled at the same time.) A certain young while-blond ponce was regarded as most likely to leave his wife a virgin, and came in for some rather tactless observations about his sexuality.

Overall, the night was thoroughly confusing to House Granger.

-o-

On September 6th, Hermione received an owl delivery at the breakfast table: the complete ATP financials, with a cover letter.

_Lady Granger, _

_The back-to-school sales were quite profitable this year, and as we have no debtors to satisfy, our financial picture is quite rosy. (See attached report.)_

_You parents should be quite frustrated by now, as you are now beyond their reach and they have no way of contacting anyone in the magical world. They were expecting to be able to empty the ATP vaults of our yearly profit (which this year amounts to over 55,000 Galleons), and thanks to your work with the cell phone, they now have no way to contact anyone on our side of the magical divide._

_Obviously, you need to think about your financial safety if you return to your parents. If you desire, you can stay in the Wizarding world under my supervision, and take up your position as Lady Granger on a full time basis. This would also allow you to freely use the House Granger vaults without exposing their existence to your grasping relatives._

_With ATP's financial outlook being quite stable, I feel that we can now expand to ancillary positions such as indexing. I will begin advertising for this position immediately. Please do not expect fully indexed editions for at least three years after this position is filled._

_I have also received, on your behalf, an invitation to take up your seat on the Wizengamot. The first meeting for you would be on the 20__th__ of this month. If desired, I will be available to oversee your travel. If you plan to attend, you will need appropriate attire, and if you do not plan to attend, you must appoint a proxy to attend on your behalf._

_Signed,_

_Sharon Latheham_

Hermione involuntarily smiled several times at the latter, none more widely then at the thought of her frustrated parents going broke and not being able to loot her vaults.

Hmm, a Wizengamot proxy? That sounds much better – someone else does the boring bits, and she is able to still control the important parts. Who … ah. Leland Mannering-Phipps, the automation expert; if he would accept … perhaps she would have to add some pay to the position to get him to consent. Not too much though. Maybe he can have 75% of bribes that induce him to vote in accordance with his instructions? Something to consider, anyway.

-o-

Harry Potter was catching up with Neville, as they talked about what they had done over the summer. Neville had a stunning realization that had him changing his elective courses at Hogwarts: he now was enrolled in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. He wouldn't reveal to Harry what his realization had been, though. "When I know what I'm talking about, I can share it," he'd said.

Harry had started off the summer meditating on the three strategy books that Granger had made available to them. _On War_ really didn't have much to speak to him, as he was not a country or an army. _The Book of Five Rings_ opened his eyes to the utility of learning everything. He had changed his electives, too, and was in the same classes as Neville.

But he was still pondering _The Art Of War._ "On hemmed-in ground, resort to stratagem. On desperate ground, fight." There was something about this focus on ground that was itching at his attention; while he waited for his brain to focus on a conclusion, he was making a survey of all the different kinds of spells and enchantments that he could find. He went through the transfiguration-like charms first.

Now, he was looking at space expansion spells. Perhaps space and this 'ground' were the same?


	16. Things That Don't Work Get Broken

**16\. Things That Don't Work Get Broken**

Hermione's third year was off to an … interesting start. Almost thirteen years old, and she had to choose if she should leave her parents to preserve her publishing company. _Who am I kidding – of __**course**__ I'm going to leave them! They tried to bankrupt me!_

Hermione immediately followed up on her feelings of vindictiveness, and pulled out her best stationary and fountain pen. _I think … a rich blue ink with silver particles for shimmer._ A quick series of spells for the ink change, and a gemino charm to copy her Head of House letterhead, and …

_Wendell Daniel Granger and Monica Emma Granger,_

_While I am, nominally, your daughter, I am aware enough of your regard for me to know that your entire desire for my presence revolves around the access to money that I represent._

_I have applied for Head of House status in my current society, which has given me opportunities far beyond what I have while in your care. To wit, I have a seat in the parliament of my government, and have used that seat to amass a personal fortune of over 2,500,000 pounds sterling. I have also been able to secure an income of at least a quarter million pounds a year though my business efforts, so I will have the wherewithal to support myself at a reasonable level of comfort for the remainder of my schooling, at a minimum._

_Therefore, I will not be returning to your care._

_Ever._

_Any attempts to force me to bow to your wishes and demands will be met with the utmost hostility. Where in the past, I refrained from using my abilities against you, I now am able to meet the mandatory government fines should I deliberately ruin your lives. And since your efforts at control will be an attempt to ruin my own life, I feel perfectly justified in doing the same to you. _

_Hermione, Lady Granger_

The school owl was told, "You don't need to wait for a reply, and you probably shouldn't let yourself be lured inside – these are very unlikeable people. Okay?" The owl hooted in response, and immediately took flight.

One family, broken.

It was a pretty good day for the first full week of school.

-o-

School was a bit more dank and depressing than the previous two years, over all, though. There was an escaped prisoner that the Aurors were chasing, and the Ministry had proposed that the prison guards, creatures known as dementors, be used to track and subdue the convict, as they were quite familiar with his magical 'feel'.

The proposal was scaled back almost immediately after the proxy for the Granger seat mused that if the dementors hurt or damaged anyone other than their prey, the Minister himself would have to undergo an equivalent fate. He termed it "personal responsibility", and was enthusiastically endorsed by the rest of the Wizengamot. If just one dementor got out of control, the Minister and all of his representatives (Under Secretary, Azkaban Warden, etc.) dealing with the prison guards would also experience the fate of that innocent victim (death, most likely.)

The dementor swarm loosed on the populace quickly dwindled to two trackers, closely guarded by hyper-vigilant wizards and witches. The school ground were searched twice a week, but in Hermione's experience, the effects of the dementor seeped into the very bones of the castle, even when the creature was verified to be completely gone.

She shivered. Why anyone would take a job dealing with such a being was beyond her.

-o-

There was a bit of a disturbance in the Gryffindor dorms at the beginning of October. The Weasley twins were in fifth year, and fulfilling their teachers' hopes, were buckling down to prepare for the OWL tests. This had the unforeseen side-effect of having them take an additional interest in their younger brother (well, perhaps that was also guilt from the loss of their sister the previous year.)

In any case, their row over the presence of an invisible boy in the dorms was regarded as a prank that disturbed everyone for two days. Ron Weasley complained to all and sundry that his pet rat was missing, but encountered the expected levels of sympathy you would give to a perpetually whiny young man with no manners.

On the fourth day after the disturbance, the rat was found just outside of the Fat Lady's portrait, diced into over eight uneven pieces, and sprinkled with a trace of sawdust. Third years and up immediately refused to speak of or speculate on the fate of the rat, linking it to the deaths that the castle had seen in recent years. The event quickly faded to "that thing that happened a few weeks ago," for most.

The headmaster had taken custody of the pet parts, asking no questions of the probably involved. The DMLE had issued a notice ten days later that the notorious murder, Sirius Black, was wanted for questioning, and was under no circumstances to be deceased when brought into custody.

Classes were not disturbed during all this, and went merrily along their way afterwards.

-o-

Hermione was a bit confused by her roommates and their views on wizarding social roles. Women, sorry, witches … were just as able as wizards in the use of magic. So why were the third year girls so intent on finding their 'match'? Why were family roles so important that witches were discouraged from full-time professional careers?

And most importantly – was she going to face the same obstacles?

Hermione had hit upon asking her lawyer for advice; needing a proxy for the Wizengamot, she also realized she needed an adult that would do her bidding, much unlike the helpful actions of her magical guardian. (Those 7,000 Galleons still smarted. Yes, she didn't really need them, but … _Arrgh_!)

Mr. Pierce suggested that she advertise for and fill the position of House seneschal; Hermione asked him to do so on her behalf, so she would have a minion she could trust while she was in school. Mr. Pierce wrote back in a week, stating that he had six candidates that might suit, and she should make herself available for one evening of the coming week so she could pick a finalist.

Hermione arranged this with Sharon, and then cleared it McGonagall – she really needed that minion already! Finally, the second Tuesday of November arrived, and Hermione was out of the castle in the tender loving care of her guardian.

The interviews went well, but Hermione had to make a choice she never thought about before: did she want her seneschal to have business skills, or social skills? (Because while the two might be possessed by the same person, that particular wunderkind was not interviewing this month.)

Hermione eventually settled on business skills, and evaluating the applicants on that basis (as well as their willingness to take orders) made it an easy choice. Mr. Lim Dempsey was approaching middle age, had experience with the financial systems of Wizarding and muggle kind, and didn't blink when given orders from someone half (or maybe a third) his age. Perfect.

"Mr. Dempsey, we will need to get you an office and a budget. I want to turn over all financial affairs for House Granger over to you."

"Very well," he responded. _Yep, no blinking._ "What is your goal?"

**Hermione **blinked. _He __**was**__ a good choice!_ "Give me a presentation two Saturdays from now in Hogsmeade, and I'll pick one."

They stopped briefly at Gringott's to give Mr. Dempsey access to House Granger's vault, and to enact the oaths of fidelity, and Hermione was back at the castle. With a note from Mr. Mannering-Phipps; the Wizengamot seat had taken a turn for the … strange.

Originally, House Granger had been given an Associate's Seat; able to vote on regular business, not able to propose any business, and not eligible for any committee or judicial seats. But with the defeat of Flint House, House Granger seemed to have … won the _rights_ of House Flint. An unrestricted seat on the Wizengamot, with precedence just after the Sacred Twenty-Eight (34th, actually.) In response to the ability of a newcomer House to rise in the rankings so swiftly after founding, there was a bill proposed and ready for its first hearing, reallocating votes – by population of the House, rather than one vote per seat.

Hermione penned a return missive directing Mr. Mannering-Phipps to not vote on the measure, neither for nor against, but he was to warn the Wizengamot that this reallocation of power was unwise, and something they would surely regret. He was also to mention to a Dumbledore-aligned House that traditionally-minded members tended to have but one heir per generation, while the progressive wing tended to have a minimum of three children. Satisfied that she had muddied the waters enough, she sent it off with a school owl, and went to sleep.

She had so many questions for Sharon, and needed to have her guardian pinned down for an extended chat.

-o-

Finally, Hermione's Hogsmeade weekend arrived. The financial presentation from Mr. Dempsey was completely confusing, hinging on fine distinctions that Hermione had not considered before. She did manage to define a financial direction for her House, and told her seneschal, "The vault holds about 2,500,000 Galleons. Leave a minimum of half a million in the vault, and invest the rest by buying portions of companies that are ripe for expansion. Insure that we have a good income stream, well diversified." She was secretly proud of being able to toss the word 'diversified' out in correct usage. Mr. Dempsey just nodded, and left to implement her instructions.

Hermione turned to Sharon. "How long do we have this room for?"

"All day, if necessary." Sharon's voice was bland. She undoubtedly knew what was coming, in some respects.

"So, how come …" Hermione struggled to put into words the confusion she felt, not even realizing that the subject wasn't clear.

Sharon, however, had been through Hogwarts herself, so she had a good idea what Hermione was struggling with. "You are puzzled at the emphasis on marriage for 13 year olds?"

Hermione nodded. "And why are they so prejudiced against homosexuals?"

"Consider the biological reality of the magical world," Sharon began.

Hermione settled back in her seat, for all the world as if she was ready for story time.

"For magicals, we have a long life, but our fertility is actually lower than non-magicals. In addition, our lives are lengthened, but only in middle age; a witch can only safely bear children from age 15 or so through thirty-five."

When Hermione had indicated that she understood those points, Sharon went on, "When you combine that with the desire to leave estates intact under the primogeniture system we have, and the need for an Heir, _plus_ the fact that the magical upper-class in Britain is very small in population, you get tremendous pressure for witches to find their mate early and bear a son."

Hermione frowned. "But wouldn't that make pregnancy before marriage much more acceptable?"

Sharon waggled her hand in a so-so gesture. "Biologically, yes. Socially, no. The vows used for most weddings are very restrictive about the virginity of the bride. That's probably to head off the possibility of the bride having a fling just before the wedding and saddling the family with an Heir that's actually related to a different House."

Sharon grinned a bit and added, "It works against the grooms, too. The vows also prevent casual divorce, so having a wife that is horrendous to live with while not providing an heir is a nightmare scenario, because she can't be replaced easily if at all.

"The pureblood wives make a social status competition out of being able to act against their husbands, and the husband gain points with their peers by forcing their wives into obedience. Neither side is getting a decent relationship out of their marriages, and over the generations, that has warped the relationships so that even the best ones are transactional."

At Hermione's puzzled look, Sharon waved her hand in dismissal. "Never mind. The important thing for you to remember is that for traditional magicals, there is infighting in every marriage, infighting in every generation, and infighting between generations in every House. Up until you get married," and Sharon shot Hermione a sharp look, "you will have almost unprecedented freedom to make policy and allocate resources for your House. Your House will be nimble and responsive where theirs will not, so you will have to make the most of it while you can."

"Okay …" Hermione said slowly, working out this view of the world. Finally she said, "But how does that justify their homophobia?"

Sharon smiled thinly. "What do you know about Mr. Dempsey?"

Hermione was used to Sharon's abrupt non-sequiturs. "Um, he's middle aged, completely bald, middling height, average build, oriental heritage, fussy and precise, dresses like an 18th century clerk …"

Sharon pressed a little, "Do you think he would welcome you making a pass at him?"

Hermione's eyes flew open and she blushed a little. "No way!"

"Why not?"

"Um … 'cause he's gay?"

Sharon couldn't help her little laugh. "No, because you pay very well, and he's not sure if his wife would prefer that he give in to your advances or to have him quit." Hermione gaped at her guardian. "Both Mr. and Mrs. Dempsey are from Thailand, and their middle class has a very different view of proper behavior than we do. But Mr. Dempsey is very much in love with his wife, and would like to remain faithful to her."

"But … why would she want him to cheat?"

"If she were able to browbeat him for siring children outside of her marriage, it would prove that he was irrepressibly virile," Hermione blushed at the word. "and just too much man for one woman – which would elevate her in the eyes of her female peers in her home country."

Hermione was completely unable to grasp that. "How?"

"Well, a man that can continually seduce large numbers of women is undoubtedly attractive. And if she was able to get this man to commit to her – even if he continued to cheat – it means that her husband is a high-value man. That elevates her stature to being a high-value woman. Do you get it now?"

"Sort of, I guess. I don't think that's right, though."

"You only get a say in relationships that you are actually in, Hermione."

Hermione ducked her head. "Okay, but you still haven't said anything about gays in the magical world."

Sharon cleared her throat. "The general attitude toward – no, let me back up," she said. "You and I live – partially – in a world where every person has the ability to cause harm to anyone else based on a moment's whim. We all carry wands, which are generalized tools that can easily be turned to injury. The only thing that keeps the Wizarding world from turning into a constant bloodbath is the restraint and control of the people. Do you follow that?"

Hermione nodded, her face a few shades whiter than before. She hadn't had the danger spelled out for her so starkly before.

"The basis for Wizarding society has to be founded on control: self-control and social control. Lack of control leads quickly to death. So far, promoting large amounts of control is the only thing that has allowed magical society to survive, and we have a few cases of what happens to a magical society when control is not a core value, the Russian Convocation at Tunguska and the Shrubbery Curse of Rapa Nui being prime examples."

Hermione quickly filed away the thought that she needed to some Muggle research on unexplained historical disasters.

"But the Wizarding world of the British Isles is an offshoot, based on a Muggle society long dead, that prides itself on manners and self-control. They will not accept the assumption that individual rights take precedence over the needs and expectations of society as a whole, and the acceptance of, shall we say, non-traditional sexuality is founded, at its base, on the belief that personal emotional impulses are the correct foundation for one's behavior."

Sharon stopped to let Hermione mull this over for a bit.

Then Sharon continued, "So history tells us that emotional impulse, combined with magic, leads to death. Death for the person, death for the family, death for the society. When you follow the logical train up the tree, you'll find that there is absolutely no chance that wizarding society is going to be anything but hostile to alternative moralities, alternative social roles, or alternative personal expression. You're going to fit into their rigid boxes, or you have to leave, no excuses or exceptions."

As an aside, Sharon added, "My personal theory is that this also explains the dearth of artistic expression among magicals as well. Personal freedom of expression leads to elevating personal feelings to be more valuable than social strictures, so that, too, must be restricted." She snorted. "Having magic tied to words has guaranteed that poetry will never find a place among Wizardkind." She shook her head, and dropped the subject.

Hermione tentatively asked, "But what about the whole Pureblood Supremacy folks? Aren't they based on an emotional impulse?" Clearly, she had been discovering the more unsavoury side of Wizarding politics.

"Yes, their appeal is to an emotional impulse. But look at their history – in spite of having the money and political control, they are barely able to retain any social power, and have to resort to guerilla terrorism to make any gains in political power. And look at their behavior …" Sharon trailed off to let Hermione connect the dots on her own.

Hermione tried to show that she was up for the challenge. "They are very much reserved and mannered in public," the young girl essayed, thinking aloud, "but in private, they are motivated and powered by passion, with all the instability that implies?"

Sharon nodded, "Very good."

"And homosexuality is …" Hermione searched for the words, "putting yourself above family?"

Sharon nodded, "And above society. You haven't found a world where it's all unicorns and puppy-dogs, girl."

"But, but .. there _are_ unicorns!"

Sharon leaned closer to Hermione for emphasis. "And their horns are used to kill threats to the herd. Remember – that white glistening coat gets splattered with the blood of their enemies every week or so."

Hermione was quiet a while. "How can you approve of all this?"

Sharon was glacially calm. "I haven't said a word of my personal opinion, and I haven't guided you towards any particular judgment. I am educating you on the world you've chosen to live in so that you can make the best choices available to you. How you feel about everything is completely up to you. But if you fail," and here, Sharon poked her forefinger at Hermione, "it will not be _my fault_."

The two gathered their things, Sharon took down their privacy spells, and left the room at the Three Broomsticks.

On the walk back up to the castle, Hermione wondered at Sharon's attitude. And she finally began to wonder that Sharon was able to speak so eloquently and completely about the magical society with no preparation.

Then she realized that Sharon was in her mid-thirties, had no husband, and had never indicated that she had a man she was interested in. "Oohhhh!"

And then she remembered that Mr. Dempsey, to all appearances a fussy, eccentric, gay fashionista, was actually a devoted family man, and became a bit confused. _You only get a say in relationships that you are actually in, Hermione._ Maybe she would just keep her opinions and ideas to herself on this one.

It had the virtue of being a novel approach, at least.

-o-

Harry Potter stood on the Astronomy tower gazing up at the stars. No telescope, no magical aids, just … looking into eternity.

The dark was not threatening, it was just empty. Empty of lies, of threats, of expectations. Harry found it peaceful. And he flexed his left hand, causing a ripple to pass across the sky. He relaxed his hand, letting the stars snap back into the accustomed places.

_Yeah, this'll work._


	17. Gather In, All Ye People

**17\. Gather In, All Ye People**

The second half of Hermione' third year at Hogwarts was, in her opinion, what schooling in a magical boarding school should be. Learning magic and finding out about all the wonderful oddities in the corners of the magical world.

-o-

Hermione's meeting on Boxing Day with Mr. Dempsey (she just _couldn't_ call him 'Lim') was amazingly efficient.

He began the meeting layout several sheets of paper.

"I have rented offices for House Granger in Diagon Alley. Here is the map, and the door should already be keyed to your wand, although I should be with you for your first visit. The location has a waiting room, meeting room, offices for both of us, and two extra offices for future expansion." He waited for her to nod acceptance before he went on.

"I have purchased the entirety of the company _Second Memory_. They have failed to capitalize on their early success, and were in danger of becoming insolvent. I have located and engaged a forward-thinking individual to manage the company, and have sent him on a tour of the stationary and office supply stores in London for renovation ideas. For a minimal outlay, he will be able to bring them back into profitability."

Hermione blinked in surprise. She never intended to own them outright – just two and a half years ago, she had actually decided _not_ to own this business! "I only wanted to invest. Why did you purchase the entire business?"

Mr. Dempsey smiled thinly. "The business was only available in its entirety. This company is the only provider for fountain pens left in the magical UK, and is one of only two paper stationary suppliers in the UK. There is a great deal of profit to be made under the right management, using modern advertisement and business practices, and the owner wanted to divest himself of the company, not to raise additional investment funds."

He raised his hands to indicate helplessness. "The possibility for profit, balanced against the purchase price, was just too great. Passing on it would have been a failure of my duties." His smile was a little fuller, now, and was edging into a full smirk.

"So how much did you risk on this venture?"

It was definitely a full smirk now. "Ten thousand galleons."

_So little?_ And then, a decision. "I will not be able to keep this as part of the House Granger conglomerate," she announced. "You will need to draw up a contract for the purchase price to be reimbursed over time – each year, House Ganger will receive ten percent of Second Memory's profits plus one galleon for each month the entire purchase has not been reimbursed."

Hermione felt that she was getting better at reading Mr. Dempsey's subtle expressions; he was looking like he'd been soundly slapped. He had full control of his voice, though, when he asked, "And who will be given ownership of Second Memories? Those purchase terms will not give House Granger much profit." He clearly disapproved of both sides of this deal, aside from the sound rejection of his initiative.

"I believe that his name is Lim Dempsey."

_Gotcha!_ The momentary expression of dumfounded amazement was going to be a treasured memory, she could tell. "I don't want House Ganger to own companies outright – I want to own companies in partnership. You found a great opportunity, and you feel strongly that it should not be passed by. So, you are going to own Second Memory, and you will fold it in to your managerial duties for House Granger."

Mr. Dempsey was silent for a few beats, then said, "I think it would be more appropriate for House Granger to retain a large minority share. Perhaps, forty percent?"

Hermione smirked, "Which means that your payback amount begins at six thousand." She nodded firmly. "Draw it up, and we can both sign. Now – what other opportunities have you flushed out?"

As Mr. Dempsey sorted through his papers, Hermione thought, _Yesterday, I had an employee. Now I have a proxy I can __**trust**__. So – what am I going to do with Sharon?_

-o-

Neville returned from his winter holidays with a portfolio that he showed to Harry and Hermione right off. "Gran helped me work out the arithmancy, and it all worked! Take a look!"

The sheet was a garden layout around a manor house. The plant arrangement was, to put it nicely, quite odd; regular and magical plants were mixed … mostly perennials, some shrubs and small trees … Hermione couldn't quite put her finger on what was – oh!

"There's a ward stone in the _middle_ of it!" She blurted out.

Harry was clueless. "Why's that a problem?"

Neville told him, "Ward stones are at the corners of the area to be protected, Harry. That's the way it's always done – the ward stones outline the protected area, and that's why the first, and usually only, way to attack wards is to do something to the ward stones."

Neville sat back and grinned. "I figured out how to do wards differently, and among other advantages, the ward stone is now completely protected by the wards."

Harry asked, "So … what are the other advantages?"

"The plants feed the ward stone, so you don't need a ley line, and the wards don't get weaker with a larger area – instead, it gets stronger!"

Hermione half closed her eyes, tying to make sense of the explanation. "How does this all work?"

Harry interjected, "It's the garden, isn't it?"

Neville nodded. "Every living thing gives off magical waves, and if you can grow the right plants in the right positions, that energy hits peaks large enough to feed a ward. The wards will probably have less stamina during the winter, but there are ways to store the magical energy, too, so … well, anyway, the area under the wards feed the ward stone – so a larger area has more plants and more energy."

"Are you using this idea yourself?" asked Hermione.

Neville nodded. Quietly he said, "Our current wards are already gone, and Gran is working off the plans I specifically laid out for Longbottom Hall. From our arithmancy, we figure that at the end of April, our new wards will be at least twice as strong as Hogwart's wards, and easy to reconfigure."

Hermione had one all important question. "Do you want to write it up and make a book about this?"

Neville grinned. "Not … yet. If I'm going to make this a career, I should probably wait until I've got my own ward business started, and even then, I don't want to give away all my secrets, eh?"

Neville shook his head and changed their focus. "What are you working on, Harry?"

"I'm not ready to show this off just yet – to make it practical, I still have to figure out some sort of limited awareness spell so I don't have any blindspots. I've got the wandless part down, though, so …"

"Hold on!" Hermione ordered. "How did you figure out wandless casting?"

Harry smirked. "That part was easy, even if it was an accident." He pulled out his EverythingBook – he was the one that got the A4 size – and he flipped until he got to a well-worn section and began to read.

… _so my research indicates that all wand motions are part of the rune inscribing process. By feeding magic through our focus implement, we inscribe into the fabric of space a three dimensional rune that, combined with our own intent and mental focus, forces the effects of magic to manifest in a particular manner. The implication is that it is only the relative sizes of the wand motions that matter, as the overall size is irrelevant. We can see that the evidence supports this, as the wand motions for any particular spell can be scaled up or down without altering the effect of a spell…_

Hermione was absorbed in thought. She didn't get it, and said so. "How does that relate to wandless magic?"

Harry smiled a bit. Not enough to be condescending, just showing that he could see her confusion. "If that's what we do when we wave wands around, what happens if we can make the magic come out of our hands," he waved his hand, "finger," he pointed his finger, "elbow, whatever – already in that rune pattern?"

Light dawned. "You don't need a wand!"

"Exactly," Harry nodded.

Hermione was eager to repay the favour – she immediately grabbed her EverythingBook from her messenger bag and asked, "What kind of awareness spell did you need?"

Harry looked at her, somewhat skeptical. "I need to be aware of everything around me, and all magical flow in that area at the same time."

Hermione put the book down. "And you've already used the searching spells in the EverythingBook, haven't you."

Harry nodded.

She picked up a small notebook instead, and flicked her hand so that her pen appeared. She wrote down what Harry was looking for and then told him, "I'll try to have the new books added to the EverythingBook focus on spell creation and all kinds of perception spells."

Harry smiled. "Thanks," he said softly.

-o-

At the end of Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall stopped Hermione from exiting class. "Professor Dumbledore will see you in his office at ten past seven this evening, Miss Granger."

Hermione smiled as the classmates streamed out of the room, leaving her alone with her favorite teacher. "Is there something that merits his attention?"

"I haven't been informed of the subject under discussion, Miss Granger." She hesitated to insure that all the other students were out of earshot (although in a magical setting, you could never be altogether sure.) "The password to his office this week is 'Bertie Botts'. Are you aware of where his office is located?"

Hermione smothered her grin. "_Hogwarts: A History_ reports that it is on the seventh floor, guarded by an animated gargoyle that leads to a truncated tower that holds this quarters and his office. I suppose that the gargoyle needs to hear the password?" _It also records that there are several secret passages on the first floor that lead directly to the office. Have these people never read their own __**history**__?_

"Precisely. That will be all, Miss Granger."

_Hmm. I wonder what this is all about? Well, the Headmaster will tell me in due time, I suppose._

Eventually, dinner was finished – reading at the table was a great way to avoid seeing Ronald Weasley eat, and made the time go by much faster. And with an EverythingBook, she never ran out of new material.

Hermione was hyper alert as she spoke the password to the gargoyle and rode the rotating stairs up to the Headmaster's office. This was a new section of the castle, and promised to show unusual magic that wasn't on display elsewhere in the school.

At the Headmaster's prompting, she entered the office and took a seat in front of this desk. "What did you wish to see me about, Headmaster?"

He placed his quill on the desk (_He still uses quills?_) and smiled genially at her. "Miss Granger, I have been informed that you are the one behind this remarkable improvement in our school texts in the last few years. I wish to congratulate you on your achievement, which would be amazing for an adult, let alone in one young as yourself."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Hermione said primly.

"I must ask you, however, why you sell Hogwarts textbooks to witches and wizards that will never come to this school?"

Hermione was floored, but tried to respond immediately. "Because that is what they want to buy, Headmaster."

"But surely, you understand that coming to Hogwarts is a privilege that few are given?"

"Of _course_, Headmaster." Hermione even went so far as to blink her eyes at him while widening them; it wouldn't fool him, but perhaps he would think that she was impressed with his vacuous statements?

"Then, why would you allow them to purchase Hogwarts textbooks?" His tone was genial, baffled, and just a little put out that she was not listening to reason.

_Just wait until he figures out that I don't care what he thinks_. "Headmaster, are you aware of how old I am?"

It was the old man's turn to sit back and blink in confusion. "I believe that you are in third year, my girl."

In a frozen tone, she said, "I am not your girl. I am Lady Hermione of the House Granger." More sweetly, she went on, "And you are telling me that I should exercise my fourteen year old judgement and restrict what books other people are allowed to purchase?" Her raised eyebrow – just one – probably conveyed quite accurately just how ridiculous his suggestion sounded.

"Naturally not!" Dumbledore said. "I believe that you should accept my direction and wisdom, and restrict the sale of Hogwarts textbooks to the students of Hogwarts."

"I see," Hermione said, trying to slow down that pace of the conversation. "Why ever would I need to do that?"

"To maintain the value of your Hogwarts education, naturally. If everyone could have schooling at Hogwarts, it would not been seen as valuable."

Hermione made a show of puzzled thinking by scrunching up her forehead and eyebrows. "So … you're implying that the real value of a Hogwarts education is the name, and that the whole education is in the textbooks?"

Patiently, the Headmaster told her, "Everything that Hogwarts teaches can be found in the textbooks. If students can learn the magic without attending Hogwarts, then attending Hogwarts will not be regarded as the mark of an educated wizard or witch. Your own accomplishments won't be valued the way they should be."

Hermione clamped down on the smirk that was threatening to break out. "I see your point. I will write to my manager immediately." _And I will tell her that we have a new advertising campaign._

Headmaster Dumbledore caught her eye and immediately winced. "You have impressive mental defenses, dear."

Hermione lost her smirk, and hastily reached up to tug her right earlobe. "I found instructions on replicating the Scarab of Mnemosyne." _And I've just set the defenses to 'lethal response.' _Judging from his eyes widening, the Headmaster recognized the gesture and understood his position.

"But I …"

"… removed those books from the general library, yes. But I'm not about to let creepy old men turn me into a puppet for their own plans. Try it again, and you'll be wearing your brains in your socks. Headmaster."

She left immediately.

_Sharon,_

_I just had the most marvelous interview with my Headmaster – he actually believes that we will stop selling textbooks to non-Hogwarts students simply because he twinkles his eyes at me!_

_Immediately, we need to place a sign at our front door and behind our register. To wit:_

"_Headmaster Albus Dumbledore has said that 'Everything that Hogwarts teaches can be found in the textbooks.' He has also requested that textbooks only be sold to Hogwarts students. Effective immediately, in order to purchase textbooks, the customer must tell us that they are a student at Hogwarts."_

_I believe that those signs will be enough._

_Lady Granger_

-o-

He was getting used to it, now. The headaches were gone, and the odd double vision only happened when he was really tired.

The range was increasing, too – he now was able to keep track of all magic flowing within his 'line-of-sight', and for various reasons, didn't think he should push it any farther … but mostly because his brain was going to liquefy if he tried to keep track of anything more. The Great Hall was a particularly trying time, with all the candles, food deliveries, and ceiling enchantments. Eating was now a get in, get out, type of thing.

Harry was just about set: wandless magic, a new ability to see threats, and his new spell to deal with them. Sun Tzu would have approved, because there was no longer accessible ground, temporizing ground, nor desperate ground.

It was all **Harry'**s ground, now.


	18. Updating Traditions

**Chapter 18. Updating Traditions**

The sign at their shop did the job – sales were up, and every customer solemnly told the shop clerk, "I am attending Hogwarts." Even when they were manifestly way too old, with great grandchildren needing to be corralled around their feet.

While those sales were probably just future sales brought forward – people that were going to purchase in the future, and decided not to put it off – their actions spurred others into buying the entire Hogwarts curriculum, so it was a net gain, Hermione figured. The other sign that ATP was doing well was that Flourish & Blotts was … not. Like many bookstores that are unable to bring in the customers with traditional offerings, they immediately dove for the bottom, and expanded their line of magical pornography, keeping the shop shadowed to emphasize the somewhat illicit nature of their trade. The change wasn't bringing in enough customers, however, and the change had tainted the shop so that their usual customers avoided it in preference to Ancient Traditions Publishing.

Hermione started planning out how to have different editions – books that had all the _content_ of the Hogwarts textbooks, but weren't the books themselves, so when the Wizengamot ruled that the textbooks could only be sold to actual students, she would be able to sell equivalent books that weren't the protected editions.

Well, for the immediate future, maybe if they just doubled the period at the end of the sentences – that would be enough for a comparison spell to show that they were different, right?

Hermione had another issue to wrestle with this summer, though – her hormones. At fourteen, she was really ready to re-read all those Jane Austen stories, and then move on to Georgette Heyer. Honestly, she knew that her social skills were … a little lacking, and yet, she wanted to just find a bunch of guys to watch. _And maybe have them speak to her?_ She was idly looking through the potions book for second years, when it hit her.

_Photographs!_

She tore through the office. "Lacy! Brenda!" Once they had given her their attention, she went on, "Is there any way to get photographs in color?"

They looked at each other in confusion. "Not really," said Brenda. Lacy added, "There's an apothecary that's trying to extend the length of the photographic time, but I don't think that anyone's working on color right now …" She trailed off as Hermione began almost vibrating in her efforts to _not_ jump up and down.

"We're going to change all the sketches for wand subjects and potions to photographs, and we'll release boys and girls editions." The two ladies looked at each other with growing grins. "What do you think?"

Brenda grabbed a pad of paper. "The boys should be tall, fit, and wearing shirts possibly two sizes too small," she made notes as she went along, her smile growing wider. "Each year will have a different model, and they will be featured in only one textbook – so each textbook will have a different face associated with it."

Lacy also got a faraway look in her eye. "The girls should be just a year older then the textbook year, and we shouldn't feature overly developed models. Their faces should be visible in each picture, and they should have a natural look – we're not going for page 3 girls, here." Lacy's tone carried a shade of bitterness: Hermione made a note to never talk about female objectification with her – this was definitely a hot-button topic.

The three ladies looked at each other with wide grins. Hermione tried to sound nonchalant as she said, "I will want to be present for the shoots, of course, to make sure that none of the models are mistreated."

"Good idea," Brenda immediately wrote that down, and Hermione nodded. The two adult ladies tried suppressing their smirks but completely lost it when they made eye contact with each other. Lacy stopped laughing long enough to suggest, "And maybe to get a floo address?"

Brenda started calculating on her notepad, "That's Transfiguration, Charms, DADA, and Potions for each year, boys and girls. Possible extra photos for Herbology and Care, maybe for first year Astronomy, too. All sketches are the same size, right, Lacy?"

Lacy hmhmmed in the affirmative, and Brenda went on, "So we can do a straight switch for everything, no need for new layouts." She looked at the other two. "Do you think we can get, let's see, maybe 30 models of each gender, done and processed by July 31?"

Hermione's face fell a bit, as she realized that it wasn't going to be immediate. "We just can't get that many models lined up in time. We're talking one picture for every spell, and around 3 pictures for every potions ingredient – just figuring out what pictures need to be shot by which model is going to be several month's work!" _Well, at least they can come out next year!_

They kept brainstorming over the possibilities and what this new editions would require, and they finally decided that their first call for models would be in the 'working class' part of the Wizarding world. No student actually _at_ Hogwarts would be allowed to model; any prospective student would not be allowed to model. If a student graduated Hogwarts, they could then try out for a spot, but it would not be guaranteed.

And, of course, "only" the Hogwarts students would be sold the photographic editions – everyone else could be satisfied with the sketch editions (which would have to be discounted in price by a few sickles.)

The summer rush kept ATP in the black, and _Second Memories_ turned a nice profit, too, even with the remodeling and startup costs they had for their pen, ink, and paper lines. They were experimenting with different types of folders and bindings for sheafs of paper in the Wizarding world, and no clear preference had emerged from their customers; in fact, lingering to try each type produced additional impulse purchases.

_Second Memories_ had standardized upon the Muggle paper sizes, and seemed to be making headway in converting customers to preferring naturally produced paper to conjured. The two businesses were working together to bring the Wizarding world stationary preferences into the modern age, and so far, it seemed like it was working.

-o-

The fourth year of Hogwarts was, for Hermione, full of unnecessary bother. She wasn't interested in their stupid sports contests, so the announcement during the Welcome Feast that it was cancelled for this year was of no interest to her. Neville "Hmm"ed, but the real reactions were further down the dining table – meaning that it also had no impact on her.

At the announcement that the Tri-Wizard Tournament would be taking place instead, she looked up from her reading – briefly – and found that the majority of students were enthralled. _Well, not me. Just another stupid athletic contest. Bread and circuses – I wonder what they're trying to keep us from seeing?_

And then, _**International**__ students? Hmmm …_

-o-

Classes seemed focused on getting the students to actually read through the information that was in the textbook. Hermione was, therefore, bored out of her mind as she had already read through the year's textbooks – several times.

On the other hand, she reasoned, reading something else in class was also furthering her education, so was not out of line in classes where she had a good grasp of the material. The only classes that did not offer her this study time were Astronomy and Potions – primarily because there was in class practice that made it clear just what was occupying her attention.

Mining the books of the past was interesting, but in the main, useless. Old spells were longer to cast, took more power to force out of one's wand, and were absurdly specialized compared to the spells that students learned today. For instance, there was a levitation spell that was easy to cast and would work on anything – as long as the object was being levitated in a _nearly_ south-south-east direction (_directly_ south-south-east made the spell fail) during the hours when the constellation Lyra is visible in the sky.

_Of what possible use was that?_

Well, not everything was useless. Reading about the magical world's issues with creating a decent transportation spell was certainly entertaining, and sparked a thought: _Maybe there's a good business in here somewhere?_

Hopefully. It was enough to divert her from her real underlying worry: there was a police camera mounted outside the muggle offices of ATP.

Sharon wasn't worried, apparently, and neither was Lacy or Brenda. Mr. Pierce dismissed it, but Leland gravely said, "I'll keep that in mind, Miss," and clearly was just humoring her. Only Mr. Dempsey showed that he thought it was something to be aware of, and Hermione had the sneaking suspicion that he was humoring her, too, just with more deference.

The next book, _Going Where You Want_, was full of the same stuff. Portkeys that would only go along a coast, or … this one was only for east-west travel, this one worked perfectly except for making you not exist for a whole day between leaving and arriving …

Her eyes narrowed. _While the enchantment for stone portals is a tried-and-true solution, it quickly becomes unmanageable for large gatherings, as each portal can only be connected with one specific gateway, and the connection may not be changed afterwards. So for a group the size of our Wizengamot – 50 people – there must be 50 portals in the receiving area …_

Hermione had an idea!

-o-

The arrival of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students didn't really catch Hermione's interest, given that it was out of doors and the temperature was falling with the leaves. Once the students were inside, however, Hermione began circulating, pulling out her parent's small-talk routines in an effort to make contacts outside the British Isles.

She tried to remove all the arrogance and condescension, of course – she knew very well that Mr. Dr. and Mrs. Dr. Granger were _not_ appropriate role models.

Hermione was even partially successful.

The students were intrigued with her demonstration of the new textbooks, enough so that Hermione received the contact information for several seventh-years that were interested in opening up a branch of ATP in their countries.

Really, once she set up the basic procedures, the local branches would be able to run on their own, pretty much. No big deal – just more money and influence.

-o-

The Choosing of the Champions was supposed to be a big ceremonial deal, but Hermione didn't see it. Submitting their names was a bigger deal, but having the Cup just spit out the names of the three champions? Boring.

So Neville had to nudge her from her reading at the end of the Feast on October 31. The Cup, despite being fairly large for a cup, still could hold less than three gallons, yet the fire it held roared like a conflagration. It flared, and a small piece of paper emerged from the flames.

"Fleur Delacour, for Beauxbatons!"

Another flare, "Victor Krum, for Durmstrang!"

Flare, "Cedric Diggory, for Hogwarts!"

The cup, with its howling inferno, went quiet as the fire abruptly went out, leaving Headmaster Dumbledore with his hand ready to catch another name. He squinted at the Cup, studying it, but then turned to the assembled students and declared, "The Champions have been chosen! All champions are to meet with the Tournament organizers immediately, with their school Heads in attendance. All other students may return to their House rooms!" With that, Dumbledore dismissed the crowd.

Hermione turned back to the table to see Harry running a slip of paper between his fingers. He was staring steadily at their DADA teacher for the year, Professor Moody, with a little smirk. "Are you all right, Harry?"

"Oh, yes," he said, smirk growing. "I do believe that I'll be all right. Now and for a long time from now."

-o-

Albus Dumbledore carefully sat in his golden throne behind his imposing desk. There were just too many things to attend to! Student enrollment was down, and if this trend continued, he could see that the only parents bringing their children to the castle for education would be those children that couldn't learn on their own; it would transform a Hogwarts diploma from a mark of distinction to a mark of shame.

And Harry Potter! He was absolutely sure that Moody's imposter had submitted Harry's name under a fourth school, and the enchantment confounding charm was properly in place, too – he checked! How the blazes did that boy pull his own name out of the Cup before he could be selected! Blast the … _what?_

Dumbledore popped his wand into his hand and quickly checked the paper that had landed on his desk. The door was shut, the office was secure, there were no pixies about and Peeves was currently outside the Hufflepuff house entrance … where did it come from?

_I can read everything you write, and hear everything you say. I can get to you at any time, in any place, through any defense. _

_You are not the Chessmaster of the Light. You are foolish old man, who will be forcibly retired if he cannot let his students live their own lives. If you confine yourself to being a Headmaster, I'll let you live._

Dumbledore frowned. _How could the A-Team reach him, here?_ "It is for the Greater Good," he muttered.

Another paper drifted down from an inch above his desk.

_There is no such thing as the Greater Good. The next time you utter that stupid phrase, I'm taking half of your lemon drops._

Albus gasped. Not even Gellert would have messed with his lemon drops. What kind of monster was this that threatened him? In his sanctum sanctorum, even? His face set in hard angles, his eyes noticeably lacking in twinkles. He spoke, "Greater …. Good."

The mound of yellow sweets immediately fell away, leaving a small pile in an embarrassingly empty bowl. Evidently, his tormentor also knew about his refill supplies. Another paper appeared.

_If you can't learn, I will simply have to kill you. Choose, and choose now._

Albus Dumbledore sat in the encroaching night for a very long time.


	19. Chop Wood, Carry Water

**19\. Chop Wood, Carry Water**

Harry was the last to arrive, but not by much. Neville's family home was rather imposing for Hermione, but Harry simply looked around until he saw his friends. The grand furnishings made no apparent impression on him; he just quickly brushed the soot from the floo off and said, "I'm glad we can get together over the holidays. Thanks, Nev!"

Neville smiled, and ushered the two of them back towards a sitting room. "My grandmother, the Regent Longbottom, wants to meet the two of you before we look at the wards."

Hermione raised her eyebrows, and checked to be sure that she was wearing the robes with her House crest. Harry just shrugged and said, "Okay."

Madame Longbottom was waiting in a high backed chair. She began before introductions – possibly assuming them, which was easy to do in this case. It was terribly informal. "Mr. Potter, Lady Granger, I haven't felt this secure in my home for fifteen years. For giving Neville the tools to make us safe, you have my eternal thanks."

Hermione was impressed, this was almost a formal alliance. Harry casually spoke up, "It was Neville's inspiration and hard work that took the basics that we had and turned it into the fortress you enjoy. But you'll be happy to know that those upgrades I gave you worked – I can't get in even with my new stuff."

Madame Longbottom looked interested. "I was unaware that you were a spellcrafter, Mr. Potter. What have you developed lately?" Hermione was also interested; she had been waiting two months for Harry to explain his comments and abilities at Halloween.

Harry looked around. "Well, it's safe enough here – I just don't want you to spread this around, Okay?" Everyone gave their assurances, and Harry went on to explain, "I put together a new way of altering space that gives me a bit of control over magic and lets me travel anywhere. Well, except here," he added with a grin.

Hermione beat Madame Longbottom to the punch. "Show me?"

Harry looked to Neville and his grandmother for permission, and they both nodded. "Mmmm," and he looked around. "Okay, Hermione, Neville, please both of you fire some small hexes at me. Something small, because I'm still working on this."

Neville just raised his hand and shot a tripping hex out of his forefinger, smiling broadly. Hermione's wand emitted a stinging hex, and both spells raced towards Harry.

Approaching him, they veered to the right, and then the spells began to circle him about six inches away from his shoulders. "I can shape the space that spells travel in so that I can make them miss – or hit other targets." The spells raced off towards the ceiling where they dissipated, leaving no trace behind. "I had to invent a new perception spell so that I could 'see' what I was doing, and I'm still working on understanding what's happening, but I think it's working out well."

The three witnesses gaped.

"And those rune sequences I gave you, Neville, make it so that there's a … shell, I suppose, around your wards that keep anyone with this spell out. I think I can do it inside the shell …" and Harry took one step and appeared 30 feet away, at the other end of the room. "The great part about this travel is that there's no shaking, spinning, or," he grimaced, "soot to deal with. I think it's the one form of magical transportation that really works for me." He smiled.

"And we're safe from intrusion within these wards?" asked Madame Longbottom.

"As far as I can tell," reported Harry. "I tried to open a path this morning, and it just wouldn't take, so I had to open a path to the Leaky Cauldron, and then I took the floo from there. Now that I'm inside the wards, I can manipulate space here, but not outside. The ward boundaries are a hard barrier. I think you're as safe as can be."

"I feel so much better, knowing that you can't come and kill us all in our sleep," joked Neville.

Harry smiled faintly. "I would be sure to let you know in advance if I ever snapped and joined the A-Team."

Neville snorted. "You don't have it in you to do something like that."

Harry's smile grew fainter, but held his tongue.

Hermione was thinking ahead, her mind racing. "Two things. First, how did you think of this? And second, what do I need to make sure isn't published so that nobody _else_ thinks of it?"

As the three friends began to talk, Augusta Longbottom looked on with fond pride and amusement. She had been debilitated by anxiety for the last fifteen years or so, since the last gasp of the Death Eaters had breached their protections and invaded Longbottom Manor. Neville had given her back her sense of safety, and young Mr. Potter had willingly added to it, with no thought of favour or recompense.

Neville was going to be Lord Longbottom at his majority. Mr. Potter would head up his family the same way. And Lady Hermione was already someone to be feared – the Flint's stupid attempt saw to that. And right now, half way through their fourth years, they were discussing how to control what the rest of the Wizarding world knew so as to preserve their House advantages.

Augusta could only hope that their friendship and collaboration would continue. It was a shame that Neville couldn't marry Lady Granger. She dismissed that as fanciful dreams, and began considering the alternatives. He would need a suitable match …

-o-

**Spring, 2001**

"Lady Granger, the research team is here." The intercom had caught her in her muggle office, trying to hash out projections of next quarter's revenue.

Hermione reached out and pressed the reply button to reception. "Thank you, Sharon. I'll be out shortly." Four years out of Hogwarts, Hermione now employed no less than three Sharons, so the two senior ones were called by their last names. Receptionist Sharon was to all appearances a bubbly brunette with an irritatingly cheerful phone presence and a vapid interior life – but she was also their premier indexer, and had competently indexed and cross-referenced their English school line during her otherwise 'dead' time at the front desk, which let their distance learning specialist, Eglantine Price, get on with improving the textbooks.

There were three men at in the reception area, who all were insistent upon shaking her hand and gruffly expressing thanks for her support of this venture. Hermione led them to a reinforced workroom, and after thanking them in return for their involvement, went back to her office – her Magical office. She knew what was coming, and wanted to have all the advantages home ground could give her. Her Muggle office, with its electronics and ballpoint pens would just irritate her visitor, if he were at all the kind of emissary she was predicting.

She didn't have long to wait. She barely had five minutes to center her thinking and bring up the enchantments for protection when Sharon opened the door to admit the representative from the Wizengamot. He was a fairly tall man, handsome, distinguished with grey at his temples, and an air of superiority. Hermione curtseyed. She couldn't place him by sight, so her greeting was not specific. "Thank you for your timely arrival, Lord."

He inclined his head. "Not at all, Lady Granger. I am new to the Wizengamot, and wanted to learn a bit more about your business."

"Of course. Please take a seat." He took the seat indicated, which left a seat in front of her desk that she took. "I am sorry, but I am unfamiliar with your name. Would you please enlighten me?"

"I have recently taken up the seat of Lord Slytherin."

Hermione smiled – with her lips only. "A prestigious seat. I am honored to have you here."

She settled into her seat to give her well-rehearsed spiel. "My business ventures began with Ancient Traditions Publishing, which I am proud to note has been able to issue books to the magical community for a lower price and higher quality than ever before. We have also been able to attract several new authors to publish their new methods for the use of the magical community. For instance, we have just finished negotiations with Felix Greymalkin to publish his mother's cutting edge potions methods, a five volume set of instructions titled _Beyond Cauldrons,_ which will be in stores in approximately 18 months."

The man's expression was impassive.

"I have also been investing in new businesses in the Magical world, mostly centered on the use of materials from Muggles; there's no point in having _our_ people produce it if _they_ can, after all."

Her visitor nodded, seemingly in agreement. In Lady Granger's viewpoint, it _was_ a useful method to bring half-bloods and the Muggleborn together, and tie them into the magical economy. She received a majority of her income from these ventures, and having a monopoly on food imports also gave her a subtle bargaining power in other ventures; the entirety of the magical UK had never been so well fed or had so much disposable income after she lowered everyone's food bills.

"As you may know, I also found that the encroachment of the Muggle authorities threatens our security, so I have worked to create a way for the magical community to conduct all of our business outside of their ability to monitor."

The CCTV emplacements had given her a ready-made excuse to bypass the floo networks and become the preferred landlord for every commercial interest in their world. But taking over the commercial real estate market also gave her more power than just about any private citizen, and more than most public ones, at that.

And the wards provided by Neville Longbottom made them the most magically safe as well as secure from Muggle interference. She couldn't quite claim that they were beautiful, though – the best warding schemes incorporated a few ugly weeds.

His gaze sharpened. "But only your House benefits from that."

Hermione protested, "Only because the Ministry forbade my solution for everyone. I am concerned, and those I protect receive the best solutions I can devise."

She added in a less defensive tone, "It really isn't that radical. I bought several large buildings that non-magical businesses had abandoned, and made several portal-houses. Each floor has one portal to the commercial building," an abandoned mall the muggles couldn't make viable anymore, "and houses many portals to the homes of magicals. That solves the secure transportation issue, and allows the secure portals to be set up anywhere in the country without concentrating our real estate. With the permanent travel portals," all rented from her, of course, "no travel to or from these sites can be intercepted or prevented. It's really very simple to exclude non-magicals from glimpsing any of our abilities." She grimaced slightly. "It is a shame that the Minister's office refuses to allow those outside House Granger to be a part of our travel network, but we will endure that restriction as best we can." Potter's alterations to the travel portals of yesteryear made them everlasting, secure, and comfortable, so that the terrible spinning of portkeys or the buffeting of the floo was a thing of the past … to members of House Granger. Nobody controlled space and travel like Potter. She made a mental note to investigate mall alternatives. Their current space was a trifle cramped, and they could use some expansion.

Lord Slytherin was quiet for a moment, then asked, "I understand that you have a research section in your business?"

Hermione smiled, "Yes – today we have Samuel Klugarsh and Clarence Yojimbo meeting with Stanford Pines." She did not miss her visitor stiffening as he heard the last name. She refrained from rolling her eyes. "Yes, I am aware that Mr. Pines is the grandson of the infamous Count Tyrone Rugen, but Mr. Pines has not shown any tendency toward siphoning out portions of people lives, nor has he shown any inclination toward pain other than attempting to _alleviate_ it. Mr. Pines is a premier magical theorist, and we need him to investigate this."

Lord Slytherin showed a carefully measured amount of disbelief at her assertion.

Hermione explained, "Klugarsh and Yojimbo have worked with a young man and taught him mind magic." After a beat she added, "The young man, a Leonard Neeble in America, shows no signs of magic whatsoever."

In a restrained tone, Lord Slytherin said, "That is impossible."

Hermione nodded, "I agree. With what we now know, that _is_ impossible. I want to find out if that is actually possible, because the alternative is very important."

He raised a carefully manicured eyebrow at her.

"If there are magicals that our spells cannot detect, we need to bring them over to our side of the Statute of Secrecy. I would have them learn whatever they could and expand their talents in whatever ways they desire – but _with_ us, rather than alerting the Muggle world that people like us exist."

The man let a moment of silence stretch out before he spoke. "I see. I am heartened that you have not set yourself as a dictator of the Granger House."

Hermione wanted to shrug, but she knew that was verboten in the social level she was playing at. "I have no need. I provide a stable framework for their activities, and my House has found that they are happy to live and work within the boundaries I have set up. They are free to leave Granger House at any time, with no penalties, but few have found they want to take that step."

"Boundaries that keep them from commerce with the rest of magical society, I notice." The man's mouth had the faintest of smiles.

Hermione's smile was less faint. "Not at all. I do not restrict their commerce in any way, with no penalties nor incentives. They have simply chosen to restrict their association to those that are less … hampered by the Ministry. You should note that my agricultural endeavours are supplying every Wizarding household with more food at lower prices than any time in recorded history – I am scarcely oppressive." She knew that the gold that flowed away from Granger House was the barest trickle, but it wasn't anything she did – it was the tariffs that the Ministry imposed that drove commercial activity away.

Granger House had very simple rules – all calculated to make life easier for people moving between magical and non-magical societies. The primary benefit that House Ganger offered, however, was **stability** – the rules didn't change every month, and when they did, there was a mandatory 6 month delay _minimum_ before any changes became mandatory.

"It is the ministry that I have come to discuss with you, Lady Granger."

Hermione stopped daydreaming about her cash flow and refocused. "Yes?"

"We have not been able to muster a quorum on the Wizengamot lately. I have come to ask for your attendance for our meeting next week."

"You probably stopped having a magically recognized quorum, let's see … around September of 1999, correct?"

Lord Slytherin narrowed his eyes momentarily. "Somewhat before that, but yes, that is correct. How did you know?"

"That was the month that the Chief Warlock's gavel appeared in my office. I sent it back, but it was a fairly significant event, and tends to stick in my memory."

He considered her for a bit longer than was polite. "And why would that have happened _that_ month?"

A small smile stayed on Hermione's face. "That was the month that House Ganger's vassalage grew to greater than fifty percent of the magical population of Great Britain."

"Why would that have anything to do with the Wizengamot?"

Hermione's exasperation came through in her words, though her face kept displaying amusement. "Does nobody even read the Charter? As amended, it has everything to do with it!"

She explained when Lord Slytherin's face showed a lack of comprehension. "After I became recognized as Lady Granger, those that objected to my blood status amended the Charter of the Wizengamot so that each House would have a vote equal to the number of members governed by that house. I spoke against that change, and warned them that this would have repercussions that they would live to regret. You've probably been counting representatives that attend Wizengamot meetings, not counting the votes that they represent." Hermione couldn't contain it then – she shrugged. "And in my House Charter is a mechanism for any unaffiliated magical to place themselves under my banner while retaining their autonomy and their property."

Lord Slytherin blinked, the equivalent of an uncultured person's "Merlin!"

Hermione rubbed it in, "Granger House has every muggle-born in the British Isles, and a good portion of the half-bloods. At last month's report, 62% of the magical population is bound in some way to Granger House, and a bit past 87% of the commercial establishments." She leaned toward him and lowered her voice. "So you will never get a quorum until I walk through those doors. To even adjust the Charter requires my attendance – and assent. No matter what the issue is, when I vote, I win. I'm not about to give up my advantage, so … the Wizengamot doesn't really matter, anymore." She sat back in her chair to watch his reaction.

Hermione wasn't prepared to see him tilt his head and fix her with an intense stare. Nor was she prepared for his question. "You were born in the latter half of July, I take it?"

"No, two months later."

He stood up. "Ah, _Sept_-ember. I had neglected to consider that." He extend his hand to her. "Before I took up my Lordship, I was known as Tom Riddle. I believe that you may consider me vanquished – my plans for controlling the Ministry are now completely moot."

Hermione shook his hand firmly. "I was unaware that we were in conflict, good sir. You may consider your plans to be completely unopposed. My House has as little to do with it as possible."

He smirked a bit. "I may do the same, Lady Granger. I think … I will let them discover their irrelevance for themselves." As he moved towards the doors he stopped and gestured to her bookshelves. "Are these truly the subject that catches your attention these days?"

Hermione looked fondly at her bookshelves. The book easiest for her to grab from her desk was _Supply Chain Management in the 20__th__ Century_, and it was obviously well used. Next to that was _Profitable Shop Management_ by John Wellington Wells, which was almost falling apart. The rest of the shelves, from floor to ceiling, were filled with volumes covering the principles and practice of small business management. "Making it easier for people to do well with what they have is quite different than rebelling against a decaying gerontocracy." She nodded to the books. "I'm just trying to … help my House to do well with what they have."

He nodded respectfully to her, and closed the door behind him.

Hermione shifted her attention to her long range plans. _Now, how do we get Wizards to embrace pounds sterling? _Gringott's was going to go the way of the Wizengamot, if she had anything to say about it …

-o-

**Author's Notes:** None of these characters appear by their author's permission, and are simply to indicate that the real world – even Harry Potter's real world – is much larger than you might believe.

Eglantine Price is a star character in _Bedknobs and Broomsticks_ by Mary Norton, played by Angela Lansbury in the Disney movie of 1971. If there was _anyone_ who was going to oversee a correspondence course in the Wizarding World, it would be her!

Felix Greymalkin is the disappointing son (who never makes an appearance) of the renowned Mrs. Greymalkin (who _always_ makes an appearance), who appeared in _The Trick_ series by Scott Corbett. The series consists of 12 books, beginning with _The Lemonade Trick_ (1960).

Samuel Klugarsh, Clarence Yojimbo, and Leonard Neeble appear in Daniel Pinkwater's _Alan Mendelsohn, the Boy from Mars_ (1979). In this version, I believe that MARS is actually the Magically Active Refugee Settlement.

Stanford Pines was created by Alex Hirsch for _Gravity Falls_ (2012), voiced by JK Simmons. Stanford successfully enacted a magical ritual to banish extra-dimensional invaders while not being magical himself - yeah, he's a stellar magical theorist.

Count Tyrone Rugen (of course) appeared in William Goldman's _The Princess Bride_ (1973), played by Christopher Guest in the movie of that same name. Given his heinous acts, he would be known as an infamous character. Who is obviously an ancestor of Stanford Pines, as can be seen by their extra digits.

John Wellington Wells is the proprietor of a magical emporium, appearing in the operetta _The Sorcerer _(1877) by the famed duo Gilbert and Sullivan. As the plot of this operetta is much less logical then the rest of the duo's works, I suspect that it was censored. See _The Up-to-Date Sorcerer_ by Isaac Asimov for a good analysis.

This is the end of Blindsided – I hope you enjoyed the ride!


	20. Addendum

**Addendum**

**A/N:** This story WAS finished. Honest. And then I woke one night in the wee hours, realizing that Lady Hermione of House Granger was now both businesswitch _and_ government – this would create a certain conflict. This must be addressed! And then Mr. Dempsey took over …

-o-

The Granger Estate was well on its way – House Granger was quite wealthy, even excluding the spoils of war, well, attempted betrothal, that began Hermione's first vault. (And second.) She had accordingly begun planning for a House Estate where those under the House Granger protection would be able to live; but Hermione had run up against a conflict that brought everything to a screeching halt.

The Estate HAD to have a library!

Ancient Traditions Publishing couldn't ALLOW a library!

Hermione's basic genetic structure told her that every village should have a library, and therefore, a village sponsored by Hermione Granger should have the most expansive library she could possibly afford. It would help the vassals of House Granger raise their families, it would help the adults in House Granger in their professions and their jobs … so NOT providing a library would basically be intentional neglect! There HAD to be a library!

Ancient Traditions Publishing was making a respectable profit each year, as every homeschooled child was able to get fully indexed and accredited textbooks. But there was no legal protection for their work; copyright wasn't valid within the magical world, and Hermione had some qualms about introducing it – she had, after all, built her first business on wholesale copyright violation. With a quick _gemino_, all her profit would disappear, and she couldn't really afford to operate ATP at a loss.

Library? Or no library?

-o-

"This management meeting, for September 5, 2007, is going to address some significant issues, that will affect the future of each and every division. As usual, I will make the final decision, and I will be responsible for the outcome. No-one will be penalized for anything said, and I require your honesty and best judgement. Are well all on the same page?" Lady Granger shuffled her papers at the head of the boardroom table.

Attending were all her managers heading up her businesses, as well as Mr. Dempsey, who showed no signs of being the second richest person in Wizarding Britain. All indicated assent.

Hermione went over her quandary with her advisors, and, as usual, they broke into small conversations with their neighbors to discuss it. Sharon Latheham had opened her laptop and was running what Hermione thought were some business projections. Mr. Dempsey had leaned back in his chair to her right, and was staring at the ceiling with whatever running through his head.

Eventually, the managers had found their opinions, and Sharon led off. "I went through the last three years of sales and our next two years projections, and I believe that if we lower the price of each book to one sickle over the cost of materials, we can still keep ATP in the black. Our profits will be minimal, but we can keep on publishing and the company will be viable."

Hermione nodded, "Thank you. Next?"

The heads of her other businesses all agreed that lowering the prices would spur sales, but a few pointed out that a library in the wizarding world just encouraged copying – even without a library, their book on office spells and potions was copied hundreds of times each year. It was just something they had to put up with. Nobody even mentioned introducing copyright law, having reached the same uncomfortable realization that Lady Hermione had – they shouldn't propose laws that they knew they were going to break.

Mr. Dempsey waited until all the rest of the advisors had spoken, which made Hermione quite eager to hear his thoughts. If he had a good analysis, he would be one of the first to speak. When he had no idea, he would the first to admit it. It was only when he had come up with a bombshell that he waited to unveil his ideas.

This time did not disappoint.

"We are discussing establishing a library on the House Granger Estate. I would like to back up a moment to discuss the House Granger Estate itself. How much land do we need for the Estate, including a wild wood zone around it as buffer?"

Hermione knew this one off the top of her head. "About ten thousand acres. Twice that if we want to establish our own magical farms."

Mr. Dempsey nodded. "That's about sixteen square miles, at a minimum. And is there, anywhere in the UK, that much land that can be vanished from the notice of the non-magical population?"

Lady Hermione had to sit back from her expectant, engaged position and slumped. "Not that I can find."

"Precisely," agreed her right-hand man. "Which is why I suddenly thought we should expand in another direction."

Hermione sat back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. She smothered a smile. Now she knew what he was driving at – but she also knew that he preferred to amp up the suspense for as long as he possibly could, so she helped him out a little. The rest of the people at the table were just puzzled.

"So how did you come up with this idea, Mr. Dempsey?" asked the boss.

"Three years ago, when you suggested that we all live in Muggle areas, I found myself with a phone, and cable TV … and internet service. I explored online, and I've been reading blogs and downloading books and video series. When Sharon mentioned keeping ATP 'in the black', it triggered a word association. I was leaning back in my chair," he paused, "and saw the moon through the skylight …" †

Hermione let her smile out.

"… I think we should set a goal to have a habitable, underground, magical, self-sufficient city on the moon in 5 years." The room erupted. "We can get there, we can build it, and we can defend it, yes?"

The room didn't calm down for several minutes, but eventually, Hermione was able to make herself heard. "Mr. Dempsey, your first order of business is to find yourself an assistant that can take over all your current assignments. You will head this project. Get me a timeline for development by the end of next week." He nodded, and the complete lack of smile on his face let Hermione know that he was very pleased; he so truly enjoyed the biggest of jobs. "For ecosystem development, contact Luna Lovegood and Lord Longbottom; I'm not sure if my name will help or not. But for general enchanting and insuring the magic, go to Gringott's and find Lord Harry Potter – I think he's working for bank security part time. My name should help a bit there. Aside from those three, nobody talks about this project until we're done."

As everybody began preparations to leave, Hermione realized – her dilemma hadn't been solved! "But what do we do about a library?"

"Oh, that?" Mr. Mannering-Phipps offhandedly said. A professional problem solver _should_ have been the first out of the gate on this one, Hermione noted. Hermione non-verbally indicated that he should get on with it if he wanted his entrails to stay on the insides.

"Keep your Diagon shop, and open a huge ATP shop on the estate only for House Granger. The Estate shop would have every book we publish, would cheaply sell blank books for House members to make their own copies, and would have an extremely relaxed attitude toward browsing. Simple," he shrugged.

She blinked. It _was_ simple.

-o-

The planned lunar city, Selene, never progressed beyond the initial excavation. The cavern spoil yielded a high percentage of iron and titanium, but that required a large amount of smelting to refine it for use, whereas ore on earth had a much higher concentration of metal, if less available. What the moon _didn't_ have, was the ability to concentrate magic – any spell cast immediately dissipated into nothingness. A dead planet didn't have the ... underpinnings ... to keep magic coherent or viable.

Magical life couldn't survive there.

But there _were_ other bodies in the solar system, and procedures pioneered for the Moon could easily be used elsewhere …

-o-

November 1, 2012

"We're heading for Veee-nus," Hermione sang, "And still we stand tall …" §

It was the launch party for their one spaceship – with a transport arch on it, it would only ever stop at a destination once. Given that it was never going to leave the solar system, a Muggle-born suggested that _Janet_ was the only name they could possibly use, and after the reference twigged, Hermione agreed. ‡

Their launch party was severely annoying to Mr. Dempsey, as his boss and her enablers (as he thought of them) wouldn't stop singing _that song_. It might have had something to do with the open bar.

"… Cause maybe they've seen us …."

It may also have had something to do with their destination, but one particular inaccuracy in the lyrics irritated their Space Program director like nothing Hermione had ever seen.

"… With so many light years to go …"

Suddenly, the door flew open in a crash. "It's barely 4 light minutes!" Mr. Dempsey screamed. "Not even an AU!"

Hermione threw her head back in a full-throated laugh. "They're just stupid rock stars!"

"THAT'S NO EXCUSE!"

_Being a Dark Lady has its fun moments …_

† Mr. Dempsey was apparently a Browncoat.

‡ School House Rock _owns_ the memes for a certain part of the population.

§ Europe sings _The Final Countdown_ in this universe, too.


End file.
